HoND: Fair Play
by princessebee
Summary: A collaborative effort between myself and another old HoND fan, it's a vintage piece from 2000. Introduces Francoise, the Rouen Bird, and has femslash themes.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

_This fiction was a collaborative effort way back in the year of 2000 between myself and a girl I was somewhat involved with at the time, who used the handle 'Covielle' within the HoND fandom. We are no longer on speaking terms so I have not requested her permission to archive this fic here. I don't think she will mind. _

_The fic introduces Covielle's own original character, Francoise, the Rouen Bird, a strange and perhaps slightly transgendered woman, who develops an intimate bond with Herlikin. So be advised: this fic _does_ contain fem-slash themes! Covielle did write another story that introduced Francoise, long before Herli ever appeared, but I think it's been lost to time._

_I was always fond of this one, but as with all the others, it is much flawed._

-----

**Prologue**

There was commotion, commotion, and, of course, more commotion. Paris was always hurrying. One would've thought that the summer heat would reduce the buzz to a lazy hum.

Paris has always been a contrary place.

The marketplaces were infested with merchants and buyers and livestock. The normal merchants were flanked by impromptu carts, fidgety donkeys, and heavy- chested women holding baskets of merchandise out in the humid air. Lost children, lost goats, lost causes, and lost souls in general milled about in the crowd. This was not to mention the healthy underworld contingent: a pleasant bath of pickpockets, swindlers, cheats, spies, usurers, gamblers, murderers, and, worst of all, performers. Every corner had a puppet stand, a dancer, a singer, or some combination of all three. And among them, as a person familiar with Paris would expect, was Clopin Trouillefou and his curious wife. The two gypsies had found themselves a lucrative spot. Half in the shade, on the edge of the hubbub, placed on the one corner in the city that received something resembling a breeze. The two of them were exotic enough to attract an audience, talented enough to keep it, and innocuous-looking enough that numerous children had, apparently, been left in their care...or at least, in their thrall.

Clopin sweated desperately with the heat of acrobatics and purple cloth. The breeze kissed his face flirtingly, just enough to dry the beads forming on his jaw line. If this wasn't one of the best takes of the year, he would be lying asleep in the blissful cool of the catacombs that the Paris Romany called sometimes-home.

No such luck!

Herlikin watched her husband from the shade of the nearby eaves. It was his shift, and therefore her turn to passively beat the tambourine and enjoy his efforts. Somebody...who was it? Miria? ...had once commented that Herlikin bore a smug expression whenever she watched Clopin perform. She simply couldn't resist the pleasant feeling that the graceful, limber man was hers---and the joyful, sadistic knowledge that he was working his colloquial ass off.

"Faster, faster!" She chanted gleefully, shaking the tambourine. The children picked up the chant, and Clopin shot her a dark look as he whirled around at an increased pace. Harpy, he mouthed.

Finally, when his lanky limbs began to look seriously fatigued, she halted the tambourine, and he bowed, flopping down like a handless puppet. The little crowd applauded, paid generously, and began to disperse. The layers of people peeled off like the skin from an onion, until only a few children remained. Ah, wrong!---a few children, and one odd creature, leaning at a remarkable angle on the edge of a precarious wagon. Apart from one dark elbow casually placed on the wagon, he appeared to have no vertical support whatsoever. His legs were crossed loosely, and a pair of common brown hose revealed impressive musculature beneath. Despite the ungodly heat, he seemed quite content beneath a heavy, waist-length woollen cloak and a well-worn, wide-brimmed hat that hid his face. From the base of the hat emerged a single, slender, blood-red feather.

Herlikin raised an eyebrow. He hadn't moved, hadn't applauded, hadn't paid a cent...and, most disturbing of all, he seemed to watching her intently from underneath that brim. Now, if he had paid, that would be different. He could watch until his eyes fell out. But this, this was not the correct way to ogle the queen of the gypsies.

Clopin approached, peeling off his gloves and whipping back the sweat-soaked hat.

"Madame, you're incorrigible," he pronounced, dropping the damp hat over her eyes. Without humour she pulled it off, looking back at the leaning man. Clopin turned his brown neck and followed her gaze. As his attention settled on the cloaked man, the stranger deftly untangled his legs, and with an agile spring righted himself in relation to the ground.

"He's been staring at me," Herlikin muttered to Clopin.

"Do you blame him?"

"That's a very old line, love. Do you know him?"

"Not immediately," Clopin responded. The stranger folded his arms slowly, and the dark color of his hands raised Clopin's eyebrows, too. "But I suspect I will in a moment." The stranger approached at a steady pace, his posture straight and face still shadowed. And then, as he drew within ten feet of the couple, he stopped abruptly. A flurry of dust rose from under its sturdy boots.

Clopin and Herlikin folded their own arms simultaneously.

The stranger raised a hand to an invisible chin, in apparent contemplation. Then, after a moment, he gracefully touched his fingers to the brim of his hat, tipped it in salute, and struck a startling, contorted bow, his nose almost touching the dust. A small clump of uneven, jet black hair dipped out from under the hat, swinging like a pendulum.

"Clopin, dear, you won't mind if I tell you that I'm distinctly alarmed?" Herlikin hissed.

"He's almost as melodramatic as you," Clopin hissed back, nudging her with his ankle. He carefully returned the bow, at a more reasonable angle. Herlikin remained staunchly posed.

"Your Highness," the stranger intoned, in a queer, sexless tone. Then the hand ripped the hat off, and, before they could see his face, he leapt into a cartwheel. The cloak whirled out, and as the folds spread, ruby-coloured cloth was revealed between the seams. The stranger landed in a mad whirl of dust at Clopin's feet, and sprang up. For a moment, Herlikin's vision was closed off by the cloud. As it slowly settled, she took in the scene.

Clopin (now dust-covered) still stood, his arms folded tightly. Even tighter than his arms was the smile on his face. In front of him posed a tall, mannish looking---it had to be a woman---with a jackal's grin spread across her face. A sharp nose arched in accordance with Clopin's own, and skin even darker than his soaked in the sunlight.

"Hello, Francoise," Clopin managed.

"You haven't changed at all!" she cried. Clopin laughed weakly.

"Will I be introduced, or am I a stage prop in this little farce?" Herlikin jabbed. Clopin's expression grew grimmer as he turned to his wife.

"Madame, I present to you the Rouen Bird. Alternately known as-"

"Francoise, milady," the woman trilled, whirling around to Herlikin. She gracefully sank to one knee in the dust, and took Herlikin's hand. Still seemingly in her masquerade as a man, she lightly kissed the pale hand, and looked up into Herlikin's mismatched eyes. "...and may I say that you surpass the beauty that rumour has it you possess." The woman's own, coffee-black eyes glinted back...with only the slightest glint of fun.

"It's nice to meet you, too," Herlikin answered, defensively. Francoise smiled crookedly and rose.

"I was passing through, and couldn't resist the urge to drop by and pay your honourable husband a visit. We had an enchanting encounter previously, and I received such indulgent treatment that I would feign turn down the chance to meet again."

"How long are you here for?" Clopin asked quickly.

"Ah, you want me to leave already?"

Clopin didn't respond, which aroused something in Herlikin. "Stay as long as you would like, of course," she said herself. Francoise's grin widened, and Herlikin smiled in response. "The day that somebody calls the Paris Romany exclusive is the day that the sun goes dark."

"I would never question such an assertion," Francoise answered, her low voice dipping. "Likewise, I would never keep two such gifted performers from winning their bread. Until this evening, then," Francoise said, "Adieu." With a gentle incline of her head, the strange woman replaced her hat, turned on one heel, and strode away.

"Well," said Herlikin, watching the red feather vanish into the crowd.

"God help us," Clopin said.


	2. Entrance to Entrance

**Entrance to Entrance**

Later after we had returned to the Court I was finding it difficult to put Francoise from my mind. It was early evening in the Court of Miracles, Clopin had gone up to the tavern for a while, and I was making my way over to Bethan's tent with a bundle of silks and cottons in my arms, for I wanted a dress made and none sewed better than Bethan.

Francoise had come in with a kumpania only that day and I was terribly curious about her and them, but to have gone over straight away would mean offering assistance in the unpacking of vurdons, and I had enough to do in my own home. Apart from that I did not particularly want to. Better to join them in the Court centre this evening and listen to their tales, ask them about their travels. Although somehow I doubted I would be paying much attention to all but one of them. I remembered her legs, their long smoothness, the muscles I could see through the fabric of the hose she wore. I remembered how I thought she was a man until she'd whipped off her hat revealing those eyes, and her wonderful nose. I loved the red of the feather that dangled from one ear.

Most of the room had already gathered in the centre on benches and cushions around fires, supping from the huge pots and pans used whenever there were visitors to the Court, and as soon as Clopin came home we would go over to join them. I heard the familiar shouts of laughter and conversation, and was looking forward to joining in, new stories, new faces, new smells. I always enjoyed the first evening with new arrivals; after that I grew agitated at their presence and the amount of my husband's time they took up.

I was smelling the perfume on a shimmering piece of green when a voice wavered up and out of the crowd hustled in the centre. It arrested me immediately, a long high note, pulled out of the throat like a piece of cord, hanging on the air before crashing back down into a song without words. I stayed where I was, frozen. Right then I did not know that it was Francoise who sang. I did not know that the voice was female, I did not know that it was mortal, the voice could have been the song of the devil, it could have been my own madness speaking to me, I didn't know…

All I knew right then was that I liked it.

Forgetting Bethan I turned on my heel and strode decisively towards the Centre. The room there were gathered around something; they were laughing and clapping their hands, men and women alike. I stood on tiptoe to see over the shoulders of those in front of me, broad chested men, and wide-hipped women. I caught a flash of colour, like the underbelly of a parrot as it darts through the sky, and then another, and another. Whatever it was it was fast. Clutching my bundle of fabrics tight to my bosom, I began to nudge my way through the room in front of me, intent upon seeing our guest. I could hear her speak now, not singing, but in the same strange, birdish language. My eyes were wide and eager to see, and I felt like a cat as I slunk forward---one who's been intrigued by a quivering colour in the corner of its eye and must know more.

There were only a few room in front of me now, but I could not push through. They were men, and they were large and they had their hands on their hips in a commanding fashion as they observed the spectacle beyond. I was agitated that so small a barrier stood between me and satisfaction and felt like kicking the calves of those who blocked my path, but thought better of it. Ducking down a little way, I peeked through the crook of the arm of the room in front of me, and saw what I had come to see.

At first sight I gasped and clutched my fabrics closer, for my eyes played a trick on me and showed me a giant bird, moving frenetically as though trapped. Once it stopped twirling a split second later, I realised my mistake, but my mouth did not close. I could see its yellow hose and vibrant red tunic, the life of its green and blue scarves which whirled vividly like wings from its sleeves. But what held my attention was the creature's mask. The long beak ran up into an explosion of coloured feathers, the eye holes revealed a pair as black and beady as any bird's that seemed to take in all its audience at once. From then I followed the mask, not its wearer's body. I was like a kitten following its first butterfly, the desire to possess but not destroy, and I had to check myself lest I reach out and bat at the feathers of this bird's face. Suddenly, the creature stopped in mid-movement, balancing elegantly on one leg, it's other raised to the side and bent at the knee. I held my breath as I wondered what could've caused this sudden stillness.

Still balancing on the one leg the creature bent at the waist and peered curiously in between the waist and the elbow of a man who stood with his hands on his hips. The man in front of me. Slowly, slowly, the bird brought its other leg down in front of it. Slowly, slowly, it repeated the process, moving step by step, closer and closer to me. It sees me! I thought with a rush of blood, and leapt backwards, shoving my way out of the crowd and out of the centre with a racing heart.

Once free, I slumped down with my bundle of fabrics in my lap and was surprised at myself. What brought that on, I wondered crossly. How very silly. But I did not return to the Centre until Clopin had come back under and found me waiting with a fearful eagerness. I stopped barely long enough to kiss him before snatching up his hand and hustling him with me to the Court Centre, he laughing in confusion.

"Come and look!" I insisted, dragging him behind me.

"It would help if I knew what I was going to be looking at!" he said cheerfully, and I sighed.

"Words cannot describe it, you must see, you must hear!"

"It is amazing then?"

I stopped and turned back to him, grabbing him by the tunic. "It looked at me!"

He made a face of mock-shock. "My god! It IS amazing!!"

I slapped him, then pulled him with me again.

But to my consternation, the bird- creature had gone, as though it had never been. The Centre was as always. Normal, ordinary Romno and Romni sat side by side, eating and drinking and chattering about their mundane days. My heart plummeted into my stomach and I reached out my hands to bat at the air. "It's gone!" I said mournfully. By my side Clopin shook his head.

"If it ever was, and not just one of your madwoman's fantasies."

I stomped my foot. "It was here! The others saw it too!"

Clopin shrugged. "It probably came with the kumpania--- you'll see it again. Whatever this mysterious thing that looks at people might be."

But I wanted to see it now.

Sulking, I went over to the wine barrels to fetch myself a drink, and then I saw Francoise, out of her hose and in women's clothes. One look and I was cursing my idiocy, the fact I had been bewitched by a mask and a haunting song - she and the bird creature were one and the same of course! She was sitting with some of the other women, both new faces and old, and smiling at them with her lips pressed together…but her eyes did not seem to really see them. My eyes ran over her again and again, feasting on every detail I saw. Her skin was darker than all the other women surrounding her; her hair was chopped short, only shoulder length, and was a glossy black. Her long, brown legs poked forth from her blue skirts, resting idly in front of her as her strangely large hands flipped a small dagger over in them.

She was a gypsy through and through, but she seemed more to me like an exotic bird than she had even in her mask. I couldn't tear my eyes from her, though I belated myself for this foolish curiosity, this stupid entrancement. It had been the mask with its feathers, its pretty coloured feathers, that's all. She felt my gaze, as subtle as lead weights, and turned without hesitation in my direction, meeting my eyes with her own brown ones. I was caught out in the open now, so I threw back my shoulders and returned the look, but she did not flinch. Most of the women could not stand to look me in the eye, my chovexani eyes, oddly coloured and as bright as bits of glass, but this one's gaze was steady. Just as it had been on the streets this afternoon. Just as it had beneath the bird mask.

It was my husband who broke the spell, the back of him appearing in my line of vision, saying to the woman in a voice which couldn't seem to decide whether to sound pleased or annoyed.

"Francoise! I see you've made yourself at home."

I could not see her, but her voice once again called out to me although it was my husband she addressed in her rich tones.

"Did you think I was only teasing when I said I'd come, sir?"

My husband was no longer stunned as he had been on the streets this afternoon: he was in his territory and on his guard, and would not be goaded.

"What did I say would happen if you ever returned to this city?"

"Trouillefou, if I remember correctly, you were never able to finish that sentence." She had risen to greet my husband and was grinning at him, and her eyes were no longer blank, while he looked at her with something unfathomable on his face. I was being ignored. I strode forward to push in between them.

"It was you." I said with something close to accusation. "You were the bird who danced!"

She smiled with her teeth now, seeming not to notice my tone. "And you were the little kitten who watched from the cover of the men."

My mouth was shut tightly and I widened my eyes at her. She was tall. She was nearly even with Clopin's eyes, whereas I only came up to his ribcage. She had a smell of cloves and incense about her, and I could feel my nostrils involuntarily quiver.

"Without Herli's interference this time - you're not staying too long, one hopes?" my husband said dryly, and I poked him in the side though ordinarily I did not mind speaking so bluntly to others.

She smiled up at him now, a brilliant twinkle in her deep eyes. "I never do. But Paris is on the way to my next destination, and I was slightly curious as to how things were in the Court and with the King."

"Things are wonderful here, for a change. No rain, no Christian holidays and no scandalous plays in production." She laughed then, and I shot a glance from one to the other, aware a memory that excluded me was being shared. I wrapped both arms around my husband's waist and blinked up at Francoise as Clopin rested a hand on my shoulder.

"That's not good to hear, Trouillefou. Perhaps I should come up with something to keep you on your toes? Don't want you losing your figure." She indicated with a long finger Clopin's slender torso, but he jerked back before she could reach him, jolting me. Despite the agitation in his movement, he smiled at her amiably.

"I assure you, my boredom previous was due only to Herli's absence. When she is around I am more than enough kept on my toes."

"Well then, you are a lucky man to have such a wife," she said with a sidewards look at me, her lips slightly parted. I raised my eyebrows as something passed through my veins, then blinked. What on earth had that look meant?

It was Clopin's turn to laugh. "I suppose I am. But you'll have to excuse us, Francoise. We have children waiting to be fed."

She smiled at him knowingly with arms folded over her broad chest. "Of course." Clopin had turned away with me before I had a chance to say anything more. I twisted out from under his arm and turned back to her.

"Good night, Francoise!"

She smiled at me and raised a long brown hand. "Good night, Herli."

She was still on my thoughts several hours later, when the children were fed and in bed, and I was sitting up in bed with nothing on but my jewellery, waiting for Clopin to come back from tucking our two in. She had called me Herli. Most people knew a few moments into conversation with me that I was not one to immediately treat like a friend, most people called me Herlikin until I had told them otherwise. But this one had called me Herli, and I had liked the way it sounded on her tongue. I could not explain to myself this fascination I had with her. Was it just because she had appeared to me first like a supernatural beast? That she had dazzled me? I ran a hand up and down my thigh, examining my smooth, pale skin. I wanted Clopin to hurry up and come back. The tent was glowing pink and red by the candlelight, and it washed this colour over my thighs and breasts. I had liked the way she looked out of costume better, the richness of her skin and eyes, the sharp stare of them, her long beak-like nose. A bit like Clopin's. Maybe that was why I was so curious about her; she was like my husband in a woman's body. No. No, she wasn't, not really. As little interaction as I had had with her, I knew she was not really like Clopin. My hand ran over my belly, pulling at the ring in my navel, curling my toes up in the cool linen of the bed, smelling the lavender. I wondered if she was nice, if she was exciting and intriguing. I thought she probably could not help but be. I wondered if she would want to know me. I furrowed my brow. Why oh why was I thinking about her so much? Normally the other women did not interest me beyond a pretty scarf or a sparkling ring I might covet. She wore no such trinkets. She wore a mask and danced, and so far that was all she had done.

But I knew I would still be seeking her out tomorrow.

Clopin entered the tent then, finally, and his face broke into a grin when he saw me, and he moved over towards the bed, pulling off his clothes as he did so.

"Oh the joys of coming home!" he said cheerfully and I pulled a face at him.

"Only when I'm like this, never otherwise." I said shrewishly, and he looked at me curiously.

"Don't be silly. Come here, kitten."

He'd called me that for years, but tonight when he said it an image of Francoise and her smile was immediately conjured up, she'd called me a kitten earlier as well. I pulled out of his arms.

"You seemed agitated around our bird tonight."

He blinked at me for a few seconds before his expression cleared. I thought the confusion was feigned. "Oh, you mean Francoise? Yes well, the last time she was here she tried my nerves a bit." He bent his head to my shoulder and began to kiss it.

"That was when I was away that time?"

His mouth moved up and over my neck and his breath was hot. "Yes, that's right."

"You didn't want her to touch you. Were you attracted to her?"

He stopped kissing me and sat up abruptly with an incredulous chuckle. "Herli, no! No, my love, I can assure you that whatever else I felt for the Rouen Bird, attraction was not one of them." he bent his head to my neck again, his hands moving up from my waist. I batted at him. I wanted him and yet I did not. I felt confused, and restless.

"You like her?" I asked him.

"I don't dislike her. Why you asking this anyway?"

I shrugged. "Your attitude towards her was strange. I thought perhaps she once stirred something in your loins as well as in your temper."

He sat up again and took me by the shoulders. "I'll only say it once more, Herli. Francoise is not a woman who could ever 'stir my loins'."

"Why not?"

He sighed. It was a genuine query, but he seemed to take it as a challenge to prove he did not find the woman attractive. "She's obnoxious, unbearably cocky, has endangered others with no good reason and has single-handedly proved to be the most exasperating person I've ever known, your own darling self included."

I pouted. "She did not seem to be any of those things to me. She seemed very pleasant, witty and charming." I rubbed my hand where she'd kissed it.

He sneered. "She dazzles to begin with, throws you off guard with her amiability, and then drives you up the wall. You'll learn, kitten. She's nothing sweet on the eyes either, let's be honest. Far too tall, her legs are gangly, and her torso is like a man's. Her hands and nose are too large, and her hair is cut unevenly."

I was surprised at his lack of charity, more surprised that he supposedly found her appearance so uncharming.

"You think this? I disagree. I found her height to be marvellous and her legs a wonderful shape. Her profile is striking, and her eyes are like garnets."

He looked at me with his mouth slightly open. "You really think she was good-looking?" I thought of Francoise with her wonderful height and knowing eyes, the slender curve of her lips.

"I do. I think she was beautiful, in her own way."

He looked at me, surprised, for a second. I was spurred on and continued.

"She was exotic, I liked the way she smelt and I liked the way she danced. Her voice was like a caress, like yours is, but harsher. A light scratching of nails down my cheek."

"You noticed an awful lot about her." my husband said quietly, looking at me with a strange expression. "More than you usually notice about other women."

I waved a hand. "Other women do not make such interesting entrances."

I was glad Francoise had come to the Court, whether my husband was or not. I thought of her twirling the dagger easily in her graceful hands moments before noticing me, her long neck and blue skirts. I looked at my naked husband and was overcome with a wave of desire again, grasping him to me and kissing him hard, running my hands over his narrow hips.


	3. The Dangers of Exhibitionism

**The Dangers of Exhibitionism**

The next day I woke up with her on my mind again, my first desire was to seek her out. I wanted to know if I had imagined how rich her eyes were, how brown her skin. If I had only fantasised the strange loveliness of her voice and the avian beauty of her movements. I wanted to find out about her. I think I wanted her to be my friend.

As I got dressed I started laughing at myself. Never, never had I been so interested in another woman. Most of the women about me I considered silly, spiteful things, with uninteresting minds and boring ideas. I had a dear friend in Colombine, but she was out of town now, with her gentlemen friend, Frederick, and even she had never so intrigued me. I'd had a glimpse of Francoise the night before. A tantalising glimpse of colour and humour, and I wanted to know what was beneath the mask beneath the mask. And I wanted her to be so interested in me.

I sought her out at the Centre, looking among her kumpania and their vurdons, but not daring enough to ask anyone if they had seen her. I could not find her, and dejected, I sat down on one of the benches and drummed my feet on the stone floor.

"The sound one makes in their death throes." came the once-heard never-forgotten voice from behind me. I jumped a little and turned to face her. She was leaning on the back of the bench and smiling down at me, her hair pulled out of her face with a red scarf, her hands dangling in front of her in red gloves. Red was my favourite colour. And I noticed my mind had not exaggerated the colours of her, the vibrancy and strength.

"You are familiar with the sounds of death?" I asked her with a raised eyebrow, masking the surprise she'd given me. She did not answer that but moved around the bench. I saw she was in a green dress, tattered and simple, unlike my own. I took scrupulous care of my clothes, and I loved decoration. I was a cat through and through.

"I don't think your husband wanted the two of us to become acquainted last night." she said with a teasing grin I returned readily as she sat down beside me, pulling her long legs up on the bench.

I waved a hand. "Clopin is greedy; he likes to keep me all to myself. He is even annoyed when I spend too much time with my friend, Colombine."

She smiled with her lips pressed together again. "I'm sure he can't be blamed for that." I shot her a look. "He is a man, after all."

Ah, alright. "How long do you plan on staying in Paris?"

She tapped her lip thoughtfully with a gloved hand. "A week, but no more."

I felt strangely disappointed. "You would not consider staying longer?"

A brief shake of her shaggy head. "No. Paris is not my favourite place to be. Besides," and here she smiled wryly. "I doubt your husband would like it."

I sniffed. "Clopin could deal with it. He would have to."

Her eyes twinkled with amusement at me. "He would if you told him so?"

I tossed my hair back over my shoulder. "Of course!"

She laughed, a sound like the calling of a thrush, a sound I revelled to hear. "For some reason I never saw Trouillefou as one to be told what to do by a woman."

"I have him wrapped around my little finger!" and I mimed wrapping something around that self same object, pleased at her smile. I was not speaking the entire truth, of course, but Clopin was not around to deny it.

"Why don't you like Paris?" I asked her suddenly, and her eyes glimmered over me before she replied,

"Summer in Paris is always unbearable. The people choke the streets and the air is rank."

I narrowed my eyes at her. I hadn't mentioned anything about summer. But I held my tongue. With anyone else I would have snorted and asked the question again, but there had been something in that glimmer which told me not to press the subject.

"Perhaps all you need is someone to show you the beauty of Paris in the summer," I stressed the last three words.

Her eyes were thoughtful and her smile was unreadable as she again tapped her lip and looked me over. "Perhaps."

"I hated Paris when I first came here" I told her. "I love it now, though I do not love the gajo. Stupid gajo with their white skin and Christian churches!"

I threw a hand up dramatically and tossed my skirts over my legs, revealing them to the knee, folding them over one another. If Clopin passed by he'd yank my skirts down and glare at any men who were looking. But there were no men, only Francoise.

The grin again spread over her face. "You yourself are quite the dove among pigeons."

What a pretty metaphor! But I pouted. "I am pale, yes, but I'm still brown." there was insistence in my voice and she nodded curtly.

"You're brown enough to not be mistaken for a gajo." and I was placated.

She was growing restless from sitting still, I could see it. The last thing I wanted was for her to become bored with me. I realised I was drumming my feet again and knew I was getting bored also. Would she come with me if I asked her? But I didn't need to ask.

She leapt suddenly to her feet, breaking her stillness so fast I was almost dizzy. She stood up in front of me, looking down with that wide, shining grin. I noticed her breasts were small and stood out against the fabric of her dress, just a slight push, unlike my own big ones. Her waist and hips were narrow. She was so tall. A wonderful specimen of woman.

"You'll pardon me, Herli. I cannot stand to stagnate when an audience is ever near."

She whirled on her heel, her skirts revealing a well-turned calf, and began to stride away. No invitation to me, and slightly miffed I waved a hand and dropped it lightly to chew upon a nail.

"Well?"

I looked up in surprise. She was waiting for me with her hands upon her hips, emphasising her strong torso.

"You expect me to leave without my audience?"

And even though I knew she was playing with me I couldn't help my satisfied grin, and I got up deliberately slowly, letting my skirts slip back down around my ankles as I did so, and shaking out my hair in triumph, my bangles jangling, as I went to join her.

It was almost like a chase as I followed her up onto the streets of Paris. Her legs were long and strong, and it seemed she was eager to get out of the Court. Francoise. Free One. What an apt name. I found the Court stifling at times, but I thought this one would probably find it excruciating.

As we leapt out onto the cobblestoned streets, she turned around to me with her grin, her hair flipping around her face like cloth flapping on the wind. The air was hot and had that strange stillness to it common with summer, despite the breeze. I skipped about on the cobblestones, they were hot and dusty to my bare feet, and shielded my eyes with one hand to block out the yellow glare. Francoise, as she had been yesterday, was unperturbed. She ran a naked toe through the dust on the road and looked about her with a seeking keenness, her head swivelling on her long neck. The streets of Paris were easily as busy as they had been the day previous and I almost regretted declining Clopin's invitation to perform with him today, the pickings would have been good, and the audience enraptured.

But one glance at my brown, fascinating companion and I did not regret. A warm breeze idled by us, blowing her perfume to me, a scent I couldn't place. She shot me a sidewards glance through narrowed eyes as we began our way. I thought she was questioning why I hadn't questioned our destination. I only smiled at her quietly and brushed back my hair. A moment later she confirmed my suspicions.

"Precious few follow me without asking where we're going." she said in soft amusement.

"But then, where would the surprise be?" I answered smoothly, and she laughed, eyes glinting.

"The surprise might be an unpleasant one." with something secret in her smile.

I paused a moment.

"Does the cat question the danger of following a pretty bird into a tree? A bird can fly, it is true, but cats are every bit as agile."

She inclined her head downwards and looked at me intensely, a grin hovering on her lips.

"But I doubt the cat is overjoyed when the bird turns around and pecks her in the eyes."

I stood back a little and crinkled my eyes at her. Was she trying to frighten me? Make a point? If she thought I hadn't seen the danger potential within her, she was wrong. Francoise was strong, stronger than most, but I still had the ability to see deep within a person. I could barely scrape her thick brown skin, but it was enough to see a volatile temper, like the sea just before a storm.

I could stand in front of a stormy sea for hours. All that power, all that beauty, as the waves crashed into one another and roared at being freed from beneath the surface. I was still interested in Francoise.

With that same dazzling swiftness she'd displayed in the Court she suddenly flipped onto hands and cart wheeled down the streets, her skirts flying up and revealing muscular brown thighs, before twisting up and around in the air to land back down easily into a sweeping bow, one leg bent behind her. Everywhere around her, Parisians turned to look, while I stayed where I was and watched her with my head bent down and my gaze intense. She was by far the better acrobat, and as an explosion of coloured silks burst out from the palm of her hand, it seemed, a better illusionist. The audience oohed and ahhed and drew closer to see what came next.

And still I stood where I was, smiling to myself. Was she trying to entice me into competition? I did not like competition, a division of attention. When I performed I was the only performer. Or did she merely want an audience; did she want my admiration and my respect? Surely she knew she already had that from me. I had no idea if I had the same from her.

I was aware as I followed the rippling movements of her body, like a ribbon being bent on the air, of a loss of power on my part. I'd come looking for her, I'd waited for her, I'd followed her.

I laughed, and lifting my hand blew her a kiss before turning on my heel and going around the corner.

But my heart was still eager that night and I did not wait for Clopin before making my way to the Centre. I wondered if she'd be angry I'd left her, and I doubted it. I was proud of how I looked that night---I'd taken pains with my appearance. I'd dressed in red with gold trim, a skirt that came to mid-shin and was slung low on my waist, revealing my pierced navel. My bodice came to just below my ribcage, for Clopin wouldn't allow it any higher. My shoulders were bare. My hair was loose. My heart was beating hard. It was nothing unusual, I liked the other women to look and envy. But I knew I didn't want her to envy me. I wanted Francoise to look at me and I wanted her to like what she saw.

The looks I got as I strode towards the Centre were enough to tell me I was - eye catching - tonight. I was pleased. I caught sight of her straight away. Like a piece of bronze sparkling in the sun, she stood out from all those around her. Again sitting with the women. Still (or, I reminded, again) in the green dress. I smiled smugly to myself and tossed my hair out of my eyes before walking over to the barrels for a drink, casting her a look from lowered lashes.

She didn't look at me.

I stood up straighter and shook my hair out, but I may as have not been there though she was only eight feet away from me. Her attention was fixed on three coloured balls she held in one hand, circling them around on her palm, at intervals flipping one up whilst still circling the other two, and then catching it again. But she couldn't have missed me. Everyone noticed me. I brooded over my tankard of wine, still standing and peering over the rim of it at her as she continued with her tricks, maybe listening to the conversation around her, maybe not.

When Christophe picked up his lute and Jean began beating on the drums, a thought struck me then. Perhaps I couldn't force her to look at me, but I could do my best - and even if she didn't, my compensation would be that everyone else would.

With that thought in mind I lost no time in slinking over to where the musicians played and started to dance in time to the music. My feet were scarred and sometimes hard to dance upon from injuries years past, and besides that I was no wonderful dancer anyway. But there seemed to be a little magic in the air that night, let loose in the multicoloured powder I threw from its pouch when I stood up, getting all the attention over to me---for I danced better than I had ever done before. Twirls and twists were now effortless, and my body bent where I wanted it to, my hair stayed out of my eyes and my arms were expressively elegant. I deliberately didn't look at her for several minutes, losing myself instead in the dance, closing my eyes and swinging my hips to the beat. If I let myself go like that, I stopped caring how I looked and what people thought, and as a result I usually danced better.

When I opened my eyes and took a look, I was intensely satisfied to see her dark eyes fixed hard on me, unreadable, but still fixed. She remained motionless, her eyes being the only thing displaying life as they followed my movement. I allowed a little smile and a wink, before closing my eyes once more, spinning so my skirts flew up above my knees.

When I opened my eyes once more, she was gone. Startled, I stumbled a little, but determinedly continued. Bitch, I thought harshly.

It wasn't long, though, a matter of a few seconds, before an excited murmur rose from the crowd and a strange gibberish tickled its way into my ears. Opening my eyes and whirling around I saw none other than the Rouen Bird itself, perched up on the stage and leaning over to me. I pushed my hair back and laughed breathlessly, not sure where things were going, taking the outstretched gloved hand and being pulled up onto the stage next to it by a pair of impossibly strong arms. Only one other's embrace had caused such a thrill in me as I landed beside it and stared into the crazy eyes beyond the colour of the mask. Such shimmering, shining colours. Almost hypnotic.

The Bird began to dance, pulling me along with it, a rhythm I was glad to let guide me as I was spun and thrown from one arm to the other and dipped and whirled. I'd never been caught up in such a wild performance before, and I loved it. It didn't pause once long enough for me to catch my surroundings, and not once did its eyes leave my face as we bent and swayed with the kind of body contact forbidden on the streets above. I was dipped with dizzying speed, my hair flying over on itself, my head nearly scraping the ground and my back supported only by one strong arm. My hands clung to the Bird's shoulders as we paused for several long, heavy seconds, before I was suddenly pulled up and onto the other arm and it ran to the end of the stage and flipped off it, turning in mid air and taking me along with it. We landed on our feet, and my waist was encircled by its two brown arms, and my hands were clasped behind its neck and I was staring dumbstruck into its eyes. My heart was racing at three times its normal speed as the room around us broke into thunderous applause. The Bird lifted me back onto the platform and leapt up behind, bowing to the crowd.

The noise was distant in my ears. Because I knew, suddenly, why I hadn't been able to get Francoise off my mind, and having the Bird pressed so closely to me only drove this fact home.

The Bird's beak inclined forward slightly to tap me on the nose and it asked me something in its sweet, strange language. I was about to answer when I was grabbed by the back of the skirt and pulled out of its embrace by arms stronger than those which had just held me.

It was Clopin, and his face was an evil brick red as he stared angrily at the Bird who squawked and bobbed its head curiously from side to side in a mocking fashion as it observed the newcomer. A possessive arm was tight around my waist and my husband's eyes were glowing. But suddenly he seemed to let out all his anger in a long breath, and with a distinctly nasty laugh he turned to go, throwing back over his shoulder to my beautiful Bird -

"Well, where else would one as masculine as you turn? No man would have you."

I was stung on its behalf, but it just let out a twirling laugh, casting its hand to its brow in a mock tragedic manner. The sound was nothing like the thrush cry of its Francoise. Then it feigned being impaled by the dagger of a jealous lover, swooning and cooing loopily.

Clopin's frown deepened.

The bird glanced up from its corpse-like position and tsk-ed at Clopin. It sprang up and bounded over to us, its beak a hair's width from Clopin's nose. Then, to my shock, it began to romance him. It sighed, a golden noise, and a red finger caressed his jawline. Clopin shook it off, but the room giggled and hooted. The bird turned its head towards them and raised its shoulders---miming "should I go on?" The response was unanimous, of course. If it had been another girl than me on that stage, I would've cheered, too. Maybe.

The bird swung its hips into Clopin's own, fluttering its eyelashes. The red fingers cascaded down his collarbone flirtingly, and it began to sing a low, lilting tune. I remember the words to that old song, that of course the bird did not sing.

_Evening falls - night devours day_

_Babies cry - mother's on her way_

_Summer nears - June will follow May_

_Cloth grows old - threads begin to fray_

_Lovers sigh - who knows what Fate will say?_

_Love's the thing_

_In which there's no fair play_

Clopin kept throwing off her hands. I could feel the heat rise to my face. By the end line of the melody, though, he gave up and stood still. The bird slowly ran a hand to the back of his neck, and then as the last note died, it kissed him deeply.

The noise was tremendous. It's a marvel that all of Paris didn't hear us. Clopin stood frozen, and I winced as his grip on my waist tightened. I could feel my ribs contract. Then the bird drew back and looked up into his eyes, and there was a malicious light in them. With a painful, mocking trill, it leaped backwards away from him, hand over hand. As it hit the edge of the platform, it righted itself. With one hand placed jauntily on its hip, it gave us an impertinent little wave. Then it flipped off, and was engulfed in the crowd.

Where it could've gone to without being obvious is beyond me. The whole experience was beyond me. The entire core of my feeling had gone dead with fear, humiliation, fury, and---damn it all, arousal. I didn't dare turn my head to look at my husband. His grip loosened, but I could feel his joints tremble.

Then he shook it off abruptly, turned to the crowd, grinned, and made a gruesome face as if he had just kissed a leper. He smoothly drew me forward, and gave me an exaggerated, romantic kiss. But I could feel the hardness of his mouth, and the way he gripped me stung. I was hustled off to our tent and shoved inside, still dizzy from the dance, my heart still thudding. My knees were weak, like the first time Clopin and I had made love, and I was barely aware when he shoved me down on the bed and kissed me viciously.

"Why were you so mean to her?" I asked him, and he looked at me dazedly for a few seconds.

"Why did you dance with her?"

"The Bird asked me too. She would want me to."

"Good god." he muttered angrily and began kissing me again, pulling at my skirt. I knew right then that I should of stopped him, that was about to happen was not happening in love. It was an assertion of his possession of me, a reminder of who I was married to. My silly husband, of course I never stopped loving him as much for a second - but Francoise was so - new.

She was powerful.


	4. Storm After the Calm

**Storm After the Calm**

Clopin was still asleep when I woke, and I had no desire to wake him up after the night before. Nor did I have any immediate desire to seek out Francoise. I couldn't quite work up the bravado. I kept seeing that mask curve around Clopin's face, and the pale sheen of his skin. I wasn't looking forward to the ribbing and double entendres that would inevitably come from the others, either. I lay still by my husband's side and watched him for a few moments, snoring softly, his brow lightly puckered. He was so handsome and I loved him so much, but I couldn't get the scent of Francoise out of my head. I slipped out of bed, glad he had been unhappy enough to not wrap his arms around me when he'd finished the night before, and stole over to my trunks. I dressed quietly---the least fantastic elements of my wardrobe. I took one of our more unremarkable blankets and wrapped it about my shoulders, and pulled my bright hair up and back under my seldom-worn diklo. Thus armed, I steeled myself and walked out into the Court.

It was less crowded than I had thought. Many were taking the opportunity of the cool morning above to take care of city business...by mid-afternoon the catacombs would be swarming again with people escaping the heat. I made my way across the great enclosure, absent-mindedly trying to decide what fire to sit at. My mind was cloudy with sleep. At last I found one that had been abandoned by its makers, and was now inhabited only by a mangy dog, one of the creatures who lived in the Court and fed off of scraps and sympathy. I scratched behind its ears, and it whined softly. Breakfast, children, and conversation could wait. Staring into the coals was as much as I could muster.

After about five minutes, the dog stopped whining and lifted its head up. It scrabbled to its feet and cantered away.

"Well, he at least knows what's good for him," Francoise said, and sat down beside me. She wasn't wearing the scarf this morning, and her hair hung jaggedly down. The red feather, though, dipped from behind her left ear. She clasped her red-gloved hands. I turned my face back to the fire, uneasy. "Good morning."

"Dressed rather humbly today, aren't we, Madame Trouillefou?" The hint of a smirk crossed her face.

"I dress like I want to." Madame Trouillefou. I didn't like the sound of it.

"As well you should. But such a modest outfit will hardly raise the rates on the streets. One has to show skin in this weather, or go hungry..."

"You don't seem to reveal much, but I don't see your ribs sticking out," I countered.

"That's the third option. Wear so much of a costume that they take pity on you."

"Pity? On Francoise de Rouen?" I asked, with an edge.

"You'd be surprised," she said, the s trailing off.

I looked over at her again. Her eyes were focused on the fire, and her long neck craned to place her face close to the fire.

"Is the indomitable Monsieur Trouillefou awake, or are we husbandless?"

"He's still sleeping."

"He must look quite adorable. Does he sleep with his mouth open, or closed?"

"Open."

"You know what they say about men who sleep with their mouths open..." she said.

I waited a moment. "No. I don't."

"They breathe less through their nose."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. This creature was so much less threatening than the crazy beast of the night before. They were different things...they only seemed to share the same body.

Francoise unclasped her hands, circled her right wrist in towards her, and produced an apple. She circled her left wrist, and produced the small, well-worn dagger she had played with before.

"Hungry?"

"No."

I watched her core it, with one swift, swivelling cut, and then bite into the hard red surface, her long-hinged jaw taking almost a third of it away. She glanced over at me. "I've always had a mad appetite."

"Even when you were a child?"

"Especially so."

"Did you have any siblings?"

"The better question would be 'did you have any parents'? To which the answer would be long, complicated, and uninteresting. As for you...you look to be a much better legend than I."

I looked at her odd frame, the wild set of her eyes, the red feather, and the gloved hands, and doubted it. But I didn't have anything else to do, so I told her about India, about Paris, and about me. Whenever I readied to stop, her eyes continued to bore into me, asking a question I didn't know and might not want to answer, so I would pick up again and continue on with my tales. I told her of days when I had been less than a pleasant person. All the while she listened intently, her wide eyes trained on my face. The dagger flipped rhythmically between her hands, and she spread her legs, bent over like a smith's bellows.

When I finally trailed off into something resembling an ending, and her eyes finally flickered off of me, she ceased the movement of the dagger, the blade pointing up to the dark ceiling. "Well, an exotic past to fit an exotic lady. And not a half-bad dancer, either."

"I'm not generally that inspired."

"As inspired as what?"

I frowned. "As last night."

"Ah. Yes. You danced in front of the circle."

"And with you."

"Me? I retired early last night, Madame. You're mistaken." Her face was clean of any guile. Something in me sank a notch. Damn masked performers, always so smug about retaining separate identities. My father had been the same.

"With the Bird, then."

"Flirtatious snot."

"Pardon?" I blinked several times and sat up straighter.

"The Bird, I mean. Can never resist a good pair of legs."

"I think, maybe," I managed, "that it went a little too far."

"Well, if you don't want it to cause you trouble, I advise you to purchase a large cat. It can't abide cats. Unless, of course," she grinned, "they're Indian kittens." She leaned forward on her elbows, an exaggerated, suggestive smirk on her face.

Barely a second later my heart began to thud hard again, and I took a short little breath. The smile alone was enough to reawaken in me the powerful attraction I had felt for her - it - both of them - the night before. I remembered her watching me dance with those dark, dark eyes, and the press of its thighs against me when we danced together. This was beginning to get confusing. I loved only my husband, but Francoise was seductive in more ways than one.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to see Clopin. The look in his eyes was very wary. I attempted to smile in a modest, winning way, and the edges of a smile crept into his own face. "Good morning, love," he said. "Conversing with our obnoxious guest again?" He walked over to Francoise.

"Good morning, Your Majesty. Come to retrieve your wife?"

"Yes," he said, sounding genuinely playful. "Apparently she's still mine, despite the best attempts of certain beasts."

"Like what, Trouillefou? Surely the rats here aren't that amorous. And the dogs seem unfriendly at best."

She swept her right leg so it bent his left knee, forcing him to jog forward a few steps to keep balance.

"I was thinking, actually," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "of birds." Then, pushing her shoulder down, he launched into a beautiful flip that took him over the fire and landed him by my side. I laughed and rubbed my head against his leg, relieved by his mood. Then I turned over to Francoise. A blank look was frozen on her face, and her eyes were focussed intently on a point three feet directly behind my chest.

She blinked once, slowly, and opened her mouth. After a deep swallow, she rasped, "While your skills in acrobatics are impeccable, Trouillefou...your timing is not." Then she drew her right hand out from under her bent torso. For a moment I noticed nothing...then I saw that the red of the gloves was darker than it should have been. Her left hand reached back under, and she winced as she drew it out again. Clasped shakily within it was the dagger, coated with a fine sheen of blood.


	5. Behind Bars

**Behind Bars**

Suspicion thudded in my head like a drum beat as I chewed a nail, curled up in the dust outside our tent and waited for Abigail to finish her administrations and give us the diagnosis.

How long had Clopin been standing there before making his presence known? What had he heard me tell her? Had he seen the way she'd looked at me, the way I'd responded? That second before Clopin had laid a hand on my shoulder an image had sprung, unbidden but strangely welcome, to my mind - her hand tracing my cheek, over my neck, encased in those beautiful red-leather gloves - was such a thought visible on a person's face?

Was it really an accident he'd leaned on her so heavily, right then, at that very second? Clopin who I trusted without doubt...and now I was doubting him.

Even when she'd pulled the dagger out he'd only stared in a kind of dumbfounded shock. It was I who raised the alarm, screaming for help and old Abigail, our dearest and wisest awenydd, to come and stitch the wound up. It was I who told them to take her to our tent. It was Clopin who tried to stop them. It was only when tears started in my eyes that he let them go ahead---he never could stand to see me cry. He'd turned to me with his arms open, expecting to be my hero like he always is when I cry, but I'd pushed passed him and chased my butterfly.

My eyes kept seeing the blood. Dancing in front of my vision, like the dye that ran through the stream whenever Bethan was preparing a bridal gown. Red blood. Like mine. Like Clopin's. For some elusive reason I had been surprised to see that blood, as though I thought perhaps she bled honey, like the daughters of the goddesses in the old tales. But the sweat that had broken out on her brown forehead, the blood that smeared there when she'd reached up with a shaky hand to wipe it away, had washed away all masks, torn away her feathers and silks and strong legs and had left---a woman.

Abigail came out of the tent then, wiping her hands on an apron, and I looked up with my heart leaping into my throat, and foolishly, into my eyes as well. She narrowed her eyes at me harshly. Abigail who can see into anyone's heart with the least effort. Does anyone include my Francoise? I didn't know, but I did know Abigail saw exactly what I had been feeling the last two days and she did not like it. Old woman, old values. Even as I dismissed it to escape her cold eyes I knew it to be a lie. If anyone else knew how I felt...

But surely Abigail knows Clopin can be the only one for me as well? I felt the soft, comforting press of her gnarled hand on my shoulder, and her eyes softened a little. Yes, she knows. "She'll be fine," she said, in her rasping little voice. "But your husband needs you more."

My mouth pulled into a stiff line, and all my muscles contracted. My husband wasn't just impaled on his own dagger. Standing, I tossed back my hair and pushed aside the tent flap, walking in stubbornly. How dark the tent was, so much darker than usual, the scent of incense strong on the air, lit by Abigail for Francoise's health. Combined together, that darkness and the incense, the air was heavy enough to move about me like water, as I paused in the tent flap. Then I began wading through it to where she was propped up on a mound of cushions opposite our bed, a huddle of clothes cantered with a sharp doll's head and eyes that are heartbreakingly not blank.

But they were not Francoise's sharp, humorous eyes, or the Bird's sly, mocking ones either. They were a new set of eyes, still the same deep coffee-colour, still the same wonderful almond shape, but a different pair. They were grim. When I reached her side I hesitated. She had given no indication she knew I was there, just continued to stare ahead with this new pair of eyes someone had given her. The candlelight was a flickering kiss down her angular cheek. I wanted to know where these new eyes had come from. The packaging, as desirable as I found it, was merely that. What I really wanted, what I hungered for, was the inside.

And as I looked at Francoise, one hand clearly pressing the wound beneath the blankets that covered her, her eyes deliciously uncovered, I knew that I had been given the perfect opportunity to do it.

Suddenly, her head snapped up and she glared, her eyes sharp and wary on me. I smiled at her and moved slowly, so slowly to kneel by her side on the straw mat settling at the end of the mountain of cushions, my skirts crumpling and rippling up around me, and she watched my entire progress with unfaltering eyes, constantly alert.

"I forgot for a moment," I said to her softly, wanting my voice to be the caress Clopin's is, that hers is. "…that I have a bird here in my cage with me. That the bird would rather be free. That I had best tread carefully lest my eyes be pecked out."

When she spoke her voice was a harshly humorous whisper -

"Chased by dogs, hunted by cats, pursued by rats, and outwitted them all. Caught by a kitten, oh the irony."

I smiled at her through lowered lids. "Kittens don't like to destroy what they catch. They just like to admire it for a while, play with it, and then let it go free again." My hand moved slowly out from the folds of my skirts and ran gently over her own brown one. Thankfully, she didn't recoil from my touch, and encouraged I edged a little closer. Her own eyes narrowed and darkened, and her breath came a little quicker, a little raspier. I felt fearful---I thought that I had better run and get Abigail again, but she arrested me with her gaze. "What kind of bird do you think I am?" she hissed out between her teeth, the intensity of her look almost pushing me away. But I couldn't help the grin that suddenly splits my mouth like a stream in the woods, for to me, the answer is obvious.

"An ibis!" I say with a kind of mad joy, squeezing her hand. "A scarlet ibis, straight from the River Nile!"

Her eyes widen a little---I don't think she expected me to give her an answer---but I can be surprising like that. Like when I danced last night. Sometimes I'm something of a prodigy. A small laugh shook her shoulders. Again there's the sparkle in her eyes, and it made me foolishly glad for some inane reason. I picked up her long, slender hand and pressed my lips to it, not exactly a kiss, but something like that.

"Careful, now." she said with a mocking kind of warning. "If his Royal Highness Trouillefou walks in my next wound might be fatal."

"Clopin won't be walking in!" I said impulsively. "He is banned until you are well."

A quirky raise of an eyebrow. But her voice was strangely quiet. "A woman is not allowed to bar her husband from her bed."

It doesn't seem right she should say it. Certainly not like that. My eyes rake over her, searching, seeking. Has she ever been married?

"I bar him," I say with soft decisiveness. The next look is so sharp I can feel it pointing into me, like the tip of her dagger.

"Why?"

Why? "Isn't it obvious?" I exclaimed. "Look what he's done to you! He might as well have torn the wing off a bird and left it on the ground for the next dog to tear to shreds!"

Again that soft laugh shook her shoulders. "But lucky for me, only a playful kitten, is that right?"

I smiled at her the smile Clopin calls my purr. Her eyes were almost sardonic as she asked--- "You never get tired of these damn zoologic metaphors, do you?"

I shook my red-head decisively. "No, never." and smiled again. She laughed out loud then, and I turn my face gently to it, but within a second pain contorted her face and she gritted her teeth, grip crushing my knee. Immediately distressed I pushed back the blankets and wrenched her other hand away from her wound, anxiously making sure it hadn't burst open. I was leaning over her chest, the wound just below her breast, still covered---the dress has been torn away only where the injury itself was---and my hair drifted down over the rest of her. I heard her take in a breath, and then her voice came floating over to me -

"Are you sure that's the reason you're banning him?" I sat up abruptly, feeling stupidly fearful. Let me see just a spark of that same longing in her gaze and I won't be so confused. Let me see something that is not amusement, or provocation, or calculation and this won't be such a heady ordeal for me. But as I looked into her rich eyes, I saw only a curious questioning, almost a challenge. It wasn't enough for me. I didn't want my actions questioned or challenged, I wanted them answered. Why am I feeling this way when I have a soul and body completely fulfilled by another? Why am I so intrigued and why do I want to know? Answer me that, Francoise, and then perhaps I can tell you.

I left the tent and drifted towards the Centre, my excuse being a hunt for food for her, food to keep up her strength, food to make her well. I sighed and pushed a hand up and through my hair, free now from my diklo, shaking it out and around my shoulders. I wanted my rings and bangles. I wanted my gold-hemmed skirts. When Paul asked me laughingly how my bird sang and if I enjoyed the song, nudging his companion before both broke into shouts of hilarity, I fixed them with a vicious glare, and they fell silent.

I'd expected the news of Francoise's injury to have gone all the way around the Court and back by now. Maybe Clopin had found a way to hush things up. Maybe he had a reason for wanting to. Curiosity and desire can play strange tricks on people. If my husband was going to hurt someone, he would do it outright not disguise it as an accident. How could I suspect him like this? As I wandered into the great circle and towards the simmering pots, gathering to me an old chipped earthenware dish and a ladle, I hummed under my breath the tune the Bird had carolled to my husband - was it only just last night?

Golden tones take over, sunshine in a voice I know so well it could be the birth mark on my hip, singing the next verse -

Sunrise comes - night will now give way

Babies grow - mother's laid away

Winter falls - summer will not stay

New threads wove - so long as you pay

Lovers die - upon the bed they lay

Love's the thing

In which there's no fair play

It never fails to have the same effect on me. I am a slab of butter in the sun. I turned with a crooked smile to my tall, handsome husband who is making his way over on his lovely long legs, a curious expression on his face. The verse finished as he stopped in front of me, our toes almost touching, he with his head bent and I with mine turned upwards. His expression was uncharacteristically sombre, and I knew that mine had something amiss in it. When have we ever greeted each other without a kiss?

"How's the Rouen Bird?" he asks dryly, after a fat pause.

I hesitated. "I don't know." I said truthfully. "But Francoise is doing well."

"I suppose you want her to stay with us while she recovers?"

I flinch a little. "I want her to stay with me."

"Is that not what I just said?" But my husband is a smart man and there was a catch in his voice. He knew what I meant. But how could I tell him right then I want to ban him from the tent---twice my size, five times my strength, just as much temper and not in a very good mood at that moment in time? I didn't answer, just reached out with a sulky hand and fingered a few of the loose threads on his tunic. I made a mental note to mend it later - how could I let my adored husband walk around in a tunic beginning to show fray? He caught hold of my hand in his own and brought it up his mouth, his breath tickling it before his lips caress it. Despite the suspicions, despite the resolve to put my foot down and be cold until Francoise was definitely staying in my tent, I was his right then. I fell into his arms and let him be my hero, enveloped in his embrace, my cheek rubbing happily against his tunic. I tilted my head up for a kiss and was obliged swiftly. How can a man have so much light within him that he tastes like sunlight, like warm golden rays melting into my mouth? I wondered later---for I never wonder this sort of thing with him---if the women he was with before me thought that way also. No. They grew up with the boring French paramitscha, not my Indian tales. With the desire to obey and wear grey and be perfect. They wouldn't have the imagination to consider it.

But I was willing to bet Francoise would. And I wondered - later of course - what she tasted like.

I let Clopin come back with me, entwining my fingers in his and leaning my head against his arm. The Court is so quiet at this time---a watchful silence, as though it is waiting for the rom to return and fill it with noise again. But that will come later, right then it is very peaceful.

Francoise was siting up when we got back, examining the stitches of her injury with a probing finger, a slight wince on her face. She wasn't perturbed at Clopin seeing her like that, and he barely glanced at her. Two performers backstage. I gave Francoise the soup and bread I had brought back for her, fresh and steaming hot. I had a sudden wild urge to try and spoon-feed her, if only to see what recoiled in my face. I didn't quite have the courage.

She took the bowl eyes fixed on some point beyond me, and staring at her in curiosity I burned a finger on the underside of her bowl, then jumped when Clopin coughed loudly, making me aware I was neglecting him.

"Francoise is a big girl now, Herli," he said, with the emphasis on big, "She can take care of herself, I'm sure." There was almost a smirk in his eyes as he glanced at Francoise huddled up on the cushions, who has paused over a mouthful of bread.

"One might say the same thing of the King of Gypsies, but from what I've heard, he'd fall apart without his wife," Francoise said, nonchalantly ripping away another section of the bread. "So one must remain objective."

I tried to suppress the smile that sprang up, but Clopin caught it, and yanked me onto his lap, holding me tight there, fitting me neatly to him, as though I'm a piece of his puzzle fallen off. Francoise muttered into her bowl, her hair hanging jaggedly over her face. Her voice was thick as though she were talking through a wall, and my legs suddenly tingled, as though I had sat on them too long. She sighed and then kept on eating. Clopin stared ahead, chewing on his pipe as though he hadn't noticed. Even though I'm sitting placidly on his knee, my body feels as tight as a lute string. For just a second the third had been there, but just a second later Francoise flashed a decidedly wicked grin in my direction as she said, "It might just be easier to declaw her, you know."

A muscle moved slowly down my husband's cheek. I thought crazily of blood dripping fatly out of a cut as I watched it, but he'd already turned to Francoise with that smile and that sparkle - switched on and off as easily as a pump.

"I'd still have to deal with her teeth!"

Her eyes glimmered with her smile then.


	6. Inquiring Minds

**Inquiring Minds**

The air was thick with the sound of grasshoppers as Clopin and I cuddled on the grass by the river. The summer evening was humid and the sun that was setting in the sky left dying purple clouds behind it, like bruises on the blue arms of Krishna. Words are trying to come out my nostrils instead of my mouth - they don't want to be articulated.

"Clopin." I finally managed to whisper, mindful of disturbing the sunset.

"Mmmmm." His voice was drowsy in my hair, where he was nuzzling lazily.

I bit my lip and continued quickly. "I think it would be improper if you stayed in the tent while Francoise is with us. I think you should stay in the children's tent."

He stopped nuzzling me abruptly, and his grip tightens about my waist. "Improper?" he hissed back. But now that the worst part is over the rest is not too hard.

"Yes. It would be - indecent. The others would begin to talk. I really think it's for the best if you wait until Francoise has left us before moving back in."

He pushed me up and onto my feet violently, standing himself and whirling me around to shake me aggressively. "You, you who have never once before cared if what you've done is indecent or improper or reflects badly on us, now all of a sudden you've acquired social morality? All of a sudden you're eager to avoid a scandal?" I wrenched myself free and glared up at him. "Well, what did you want me to say?"

"The truth would be a nice beginning," he thundered back.

I took a deep, shaky breath and couldn't answer. He's waiting with the smug look all men get when they think they've won. I could say it's because he was the one who hurt her - but an image of his hurt eyes when he realises what I suspected held my tongue. And he takes advantage of it.

"You can't bar me without just cause," he says softly, but not meanly.

I gave a sulky sob and whipped my fingers lightly across his chest. "It's only for the nighttimes, and you only ever want one thing then." I told him spitefully.

He grabbed my wrist, yanking me a step closer, glowering down at me. "That's as much a lie as your what-will-the-neighbours-say excuse, and you damned well know it, Herlikin. How could you say that? You think she'd want anything more? You think" and he pulled me another step closer and hissed venomously into my ear "that she even does? She's playing with you, a nasty little game for her own amusement---you're not anything to her."

"That's not true!" I cried wildly and he shook me, his grip tightening down hard.

"Don't be a fool, Herli! Her games aren't games. She's not interested in you beyond what diversion you give her while she's here!" I can barely see him for the stabbing light in front of my eyes, and my heart is racing wildly. I know its true, but how can he say it so brutally like that? ---Instead of flying at him like I would normally, I let my breath out in a slow hiss and narrow my eyes with a sly grin. It seems I've learned some tricks from the Rouen Bird after all. But my voice is still my own as I say, in measured tones, "You're wrong. You didn't see, did you? The way she looked at me, how she smiled, what she said? You're wrong about everything."

You bite me and I'll bite back harder.

His lips are white as his grip presses down on my wrist so hard I gasp and feel as though my bones will break. Without loosening his grip he masks the sudden flare of wild jealousy in his eyes, my pound of flesh, and sneers at me.

"Nice try, Herli. But let me make it very clear to you - if she persists in stringing you along, if you insist upon allowing her - neither of you are going to be very happy with the way things turn out."

And with that he released me, turning and stalking away.

Ugly purple marks have risen on my flesh by the time I got back to the Court, muttering angrily under my breath. I'd watched him turn away from me, and again there was that tingling in my legs, bidding me to do what my pride wouldn't allow. But I'd come back, and marched agitatedly to the tent, flinging back the flap as hard as I could and walking in and kicking the table hard, then an exclamation of "ouch!"

Francoise laughed at me from the corner and I jumped. She, the inadvertent cause of all this angst, and I'd forgotten she was there. Despite her laughter, there was a curious warmth in her eyes as she looked me over with my hair all mussed up, and my hot cheeks.

"Would it be too terribly cliché of me to ask if there is trouble in paradise?" She asked, with dry humour.

I pouted and slumped down on the cushions nearby her. Times like this I usually ran to Colombine - my confidante when my troubles were with Clopin - but Colombine was out of town. I punched the cushion next to me savagely, then rubbed my sore wrist. Francoise laughed again, and glaring at her I saw a living spark in her eyes.

"Don't laugh at me!" I said fretfully. You caused all this with those big brown eyes!

As though she heard that thought she widened them at me, and then said "What else should I do? Do you expect me to hold you like a baby to my breast?"

My heart lurched, because I could tell she chose the phrase, with all its implications, deliberately. She was playing a game alright, and waited with calculation ever hovering in her gaze for my reaction. I steadied my eyes on her and spat out.

"Maybe."

Her eyes twinkled with amusement and her shoulders shook. I frowned at her terribly. "Stop laughing!"

She shook her head, and picked up my hand, pressing it between her warm brown ones. "Herli, you walked in here, hurt about your husband, looking for someone to cry to, and now you're throwing invitations about with your eyes! What a ridiculous little animal!"

I was concentrating too much on the fact that she was touching me to pay much attention to what she said - it seemed an uncharacteristic gesture. Until then I'd associated physicality and elusiveness with the bird, distance and friendliness with Francoise. Who is this woman? In cutting her open, what did Clopin let loose?

The wind changed, and she dropped my hands suddenly there and more lines creased their way along her forehead.

"For god's sakes can you throw that incense out?" she snapped irritably." It's been driving me mad all day long. Are you trying to stifle me? I feel like I'm choking."

I sat back on my heels. "Sandalwood! This is an excellent scent for the home! Why, I should think - " Francoise began beating on the sides of her head with the palm of her hands, a look of frenzied irritation on her face. "Just put the damn stuff out," she snapped, and alarmed I leapt up to throw out the dishes of incense that were burning around the tent.

Clopin did not come home that night.

Two evenings later I came home to Francoise in high spirits, despite the fact Clopin had ignored me steadily, despite the fact that the bruises on my wrist had blackened, and despite the fact that I could see Francoise was aggravated by her situation - and by me. It was a sweet afternoon, hurried along with a little breeze and the perfume of summer travelling upon it, first teasing my nostrils then being carried away again. I had arms full of wildflowers for her, and I was imagining cornering Clopin and making him forgive me. I wanted to feed them both and make them smile. I leapt into the tent and landed at Francoise's feet with a grin, scattering petals and leaves all over her blanketed feet. "I've returned!" I declared grandly. "Did I surprise you?"

She gave me a quirky grin. "With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes - I heard you five minutes ago. You won't be catching any more birds with trappings like that, little kitten. Not healthy ones anyway." She tossed a few of the stalks strewn over her aside.

"Don't throw them like that!" I exclaimed. "They're for you!" She raised an amused eyebrow at me. "Do you think you're courting a maiden from the countryside? Perhaps I should blush and keep one under my pillow?"

I blinked at her. "I thought you would like them."

She raised a finger poetically. "Doth imprisonment in a gilded cage, with fair view of gentle sky and tender earth beyond comfort the bird? Nay, it doth only serve to deepen its sad tones."

"My, you're melancholy today." I said indignantly. She laughed sharply at my graceless response, then sighed and shifted restlessly. "I've been stuck in this dark, cramped little space for two days without being able to move lest these stitches split. I've got a curious little cat---however charming and hospitable--- who paces around me relentlessly and who simply adores asking questions." There was a note of frustration to her voice, but I was more annoyed she'd broken the stalks of the flowers I'd given her.

"Perhaps I wouldn't pry so much if you gave me an answer to them!"

"Well, doesn't that tell you something about asking them?"

"I told you everything you wanted to know about me!"

She raised her eyebrows again, jagged black marks on her face. "My dear, I think you've failed to grasp the concept of tact. I do not answer questions about myself, regardless of how much charity I've received from others. I will return what's due, but if you expect me to pour out my heart, you're bound to be disappointed. It's a common gypsy sentiment, dearest." My chest tightened, and I could feel a prickling in my eyes as she stared at me, her expression clear and demanding. I began to pick the flowers up hastily. "Fine, I'll throw them out," I snapped, at a loss for anything else to say, scooping them up and turning to stand. Quick as light, she arrested me by the wrist with one strong hand. "It's not that I didn't appreciate the gesture," she said, somewhat kindly, but I didn't hear her for my gasp of pain - she grabbed me by the wrong wrist. Her fingertips were cool and smooth as she pushed my bangles up and traces the bruises there, and she looked them over with a little frown of curiosity. "Get caught in a trap, kitten?" she asked me quietly. I snatched my wrist back.

"Clopin was angry and not thinking." I said sullenly as a way of explanation, and she gave a little nod.

"Ah, of course. Angry and not thinking - that's always the most convenient excuse they have." I caught my breath a little. Could we be getting a little closer to home?

"You sound like one who knows," I said nonchalantly, but she was far too clever for that.

"I do - but one can learn easily through observation as well as experience, no?"

I pouted and wondered whether I should go so far as to ask outright - but she leapt ahead, picking a wild rose up from the bunch that had fallen from my arms again, and examined it thoughtfully. "The benefits of travelling as I do - and being the unnatural beast that I am - is that wherever I go there is a new truth to take place, a new reality to become. What happened before that has little bearing on what happens next, because it is ever changing and I, for my part, am never the same." She carefully plucked a small petal from the rose. "Even if it's not entirely noticeable. And if I do return to somewhere I have been before, I have the security of knowing that what happened before did not altogether happen to me - " she turned the rose around in her hands. " - and so it may never have happened at all." Another twist of the wrist. The rose vanished. I allowed a widening of my eyes as she centred her own on me and smiles.

I heard myself starting to talk. "Perhaps you don't always need a role, Francoise," I say softly, searching her eyes desperately, for anything else, no matter how small. Her smile is tugged up further at one corner and her eyes narrow and soften a little at the same time.

"Maybe I'm not. Maybe I just drive everyone else into one. That looks very beautiful there, Herli." She reached a free hand across, and brushed it against my ear, shifting whatever was behind it so it slipped against my cheek. Petals. The wild rose. Now I wonder - Her hand fell lower, one long finger tracing a path down my jaw line, and instantly my heart picked up its thundering rhythm. I can feel a flush spread from my chest up and over my neck. She raised her hand and traced it down my cheek again, this time with the backs of her fingers, and I was too enthralled by the brown of her eyes to notice any deliberance there.

"You're like a doll," she said to me. "Small and pointed and pretty and coloured. No wonder Clopin builds walls around you."

"I'm not a toy," I told her breathlessly, wanting her hand to trace its way down my face just once more, but instead she slipped it down my neck, which was better and worse at the same time, and grins at me with sudden wickedness.

"No. But you like to be one." Even if she was just playing a game she wouldn't have stopped me if I - Clopin was looming in the back of my mind. I'd have been sick with guilt if I had. I pulled away from her touch though my neck immediately felt cold.

"I have to feed my children," I managed to say, and she threw her hair back.

"Of course! The proud spawn of Clopin's loins! Don't tell me they've been forced out of their homes as well?"

"No, no. They have had their own tent since they were four. Clopin insisted upon it."

She laughed at that. "I bet he did!"

"He didn't want to scandalise their young ears!" I burst out laughing with her, remembering how I'd missed them so much the first week they left that I had slept in their new tent with them, to Clopin's consternation.

"I haven't seen them at all since I have been here - are you afraid of the effect I might have on them - I might entice them to journey out on the spicy roads of France, protected only by their own lunacy and a deck of trick cards?"

"No," I said frankly. "Though Clopin might be."

"Ah, ever my nemesis," she said cheerfully, and glanced at me. "I'm surprised the two of you don't have more, actually. Children, that is." She might as well have reached into my breast and squeezed my heart dry.

"There have been...circumstances."

"Ah." She's content to leave it at that, but I'm not. "I lost the second one. Detlene now." It's been a while, but I can still feel the hollowness, the echoing sound of loss. She doesn't say anything, just continues to watch me quietly. I don't know why I told her, of all people. Only Clopin and I knew. And she had made it clear she wouldn't be swapping confidences with me.

"Do you like children?" I asked suddenly.

"I like them in my audience." No, that's not good enough this time, Francoise.

"Yes, but do you like them, do you like to listen to them, to watch them play, to play with them?" She shifts her jaw and jerks her head to one side.

"Children are good little creatures. I enjoy their company."

"Do you have any children?" She jerked her head to the other side and narrowed her eyes at me. "Have you had children? Have you lost any? Would like you to have one?" She couldn't seem to fathom the questions.

"Why are you probing like this? Are you expecting to gain something from it?"

"Because I'm curious."

She sneered a little. "You know what they say curiosity did to the cat."

"No, but I'd love to find out!" The comment broke the tension a little and she almost smiled. "Be careful what you wish for," she said darkly.

"You don't know what I wish for." Her eyes gleam.

"I bet I could make a fairly accurate guess. Madame Trouillefou has all the opacity of a window pane."

"You haven't answered my questions." The smile drops from her face as though she'd wiped off greasepaint. "Are you really from Rouen?"

"Herli," she began, and glared at me. The candlelight threw wide black shadows over the walls. She was right. The tent did seem cramped. The ceiling seemed lower. I went on. "How old are you?"

"Herli," she repeated. "Please stop." Her voice wavered, and her eyes darted nervously from one side of my face to the other. There was a yammering little voice in my ear telling me to shut up, but my mouth spurred on with a will of its own.

"Have you ever fallen in love?"

"Herlikin. Stop, or I cannot be sure of what I'll do. What on earth could you want of me?" It was as though she'd lifted the edge of a mask from her face, and I just had a glimpse of the flesh underneath - if I could just get my fingernails under the rim and lift it all off, I could see what was there.

"What do I want? You appeared out of nowhere as though you fell from the sky! You have a mask you treat as an entirely separate persona, your skills, oh, marvel, exceed even Clopin's, you prance around at once like a djinn and then a demon - you make me think you're generous and kind, and then malicious and provocative. And Francoise, I'm not as empty-headed as you might think - I know that's not all there is to you, though you try to make us think it is - there's more there, more than these adorable masks you're constantly wearing. That's what I want, dammnit! I don't care at all for your damn cartwheels or your magic tricks or your cute little melodies, all I want to know is what you've got suffocated underneath it all. What in god's name could I do with the knowledge that makes you so suspicious of me? I'm not going to try and pretend to understand you, or kiss better wounds of the past, I'd just like to listen to you - and to see YOU. You interest me, not sardonic Francoise or mischievous Bird. Just you." I wanted to go on and say something else, something that would persuade her of the earnestness of my claims, the truth in them, but my voice caught and I knew I might very well cry if I tried to keep going. It would be a silly thing to cry over, so I flipped a desperate wrist at her and turned on my back, chewing on a strand of red hair, clutching at one temple. I stared down at the blanket beneath me, the intricate pattern sewed in by my grandmother, the threads criss-crossing one another a hundred times on their way around the hem. I couldn't follow the trail consistently with my eyes.


	7. Compromising Positions

**Compromising Positions**

Francoise didn't move for the entirety of five minutes. The shadow of the tent was painted over her, and she posed like a statue in the corner of my vision.

Finally the flap of the tent was opened, and a young girl poked her head in. "Pardon, Madame," she said, her words thick with a northern accent, "but you're needed at one of the fires. Your daughter's scraped her arm and is likely to bawl her head off."

"I'll be right there," I said hoarsely, and stiffly got to my feet. Without looking at Francoise, I made my way out. The girl put her head back in the tent.

"I hope you're faring better, Madame," she said hopefully to Francoise.

"I hope so, too," I heard her answer. "Oh, and would you do me a favour?"

"Of course, Madame!"

"Give this little prisoner an airing out."

The girl emerged smiling, one of the wild roses now in her hand. She slipped it blushingly behind her ear, and bounded freshly in front of me to lead the way.

I could feel the pressure of the dark eyes still inside the tent.

I was greeted at the fire place with a wail of "Maman!!!" and comforted the sulky bundle with an unusual sombreness. I was somewhat relieved when Tante Marie appeared on the scene and scooped her up into massive arms for coddling. Tante Marie liked soothing the scraped arm of a child only marginally less then filling the belly of one.

Clopin was about in the city---earning money and withstanding the torture, whichever came first. I almost wished he were there so I could run to him with my woes - but I knew Francoise's presence would rise between us like the beating of wings. Instead, I cheered myself with my 'friends' the women, gossiping about the men and volunteering an eternal string of remedies, charms, and proven methods. Anything I had to offer was brushed aside - I learned what I know in India, and although everything I knew was one hundred percent tried, tested and correct (at least as much as it could be), the arrogance of the Europeans forbade them accepting these truths. After awhile I snorted, tossed back my hair and consented to listen with a disinterested pout on my face.

After a long string of conversation on the topic of childhood illnesses had worn itself to death, Francoise found a proxy to invade my head again.

"You know, dear, the Rouen Bird could probably stand a little movement. And if I'm right, she'll be half out of her head from the smoke and the tent," Tante Marie commented, tossing aside a small bundle of stained cloth that she had been sorting.

"From what I've seen, that creature's already half out of its head---the only thing left is for its head to fall off," Sophie put in, grinning.

"If Clopin doesn't cut it off, first," Marguerite joked, and a splash of laughter ran through the ring.

"When that creature began to dance with you, dear, I turned to Georges and said, 'Imagine! To be cuckolded by a cuckoo!' And do you know what he did? He turned to me and said, 'And what do you take yourself to be, Miriana? A Russian firebird? You certainly burn the soup every night!'"

I smiled with polite strain and stood to leave. Nice to be the centre of attention - when it's on my terms. Abigail, who was sitting on the corner of one of the benches, calmly weaving a charm from leather, gave me a quick look. Wrapping the leather cords up, she stood with me, her wrinkled brown face crinkling even more at the eyes.

I walked off hurriedly - Abigail could see in deep, and I did not altogether want that kind of perception directed at me right then. But she caught up with me, hobbling quickly on her old legs, her soft hand on my shoulder.

"Here now, little one, you should let her out. Not anything more than a walk around, of course, and that carefully---but as much as incense is a healing thing, a little of this sewer air can't do her much harm. And I imagine she'll be a fair lot kinder afterwards."

"She's been perfectly kind," I answered, speeding up.

"Then," said Abigail, "you would do her the favour of letting her out, anyway. And I would let Clopin back into the tent."

"You notice too much," I retorted, stopping in my tracks. Her gentle, folded face creased into a warm smile. "No. I notice everything, little one. That's far better than noticing only too much."

I pursed my lips at her in an effort to look cross. "Abigail - it's not that I'm trying to keep her a prisoner, it's just - "

"I know. You're trying to scratch your way under that pretty facade she has. I can't say I blame you - there's a lot worth discovering there, I'm sure. On the other hand, you young chit, just be careful. There's an even greater lot that you might not be expecting - or wanting - to find."

"Fine, fine. I'll be careful. I'd better go back now and make sure she hasn't flown the coop," I said coldly.

Abigail let me be, and I returned with considerable apprehension to our tent, loaded with a bucket of hot water, some linen and scented oils. Francoise was comfortably sprawled out on the cushions, her face an indifferent mask, calmly plucking the petals one by one of the flowers on her lap. I hovered by the tent flap for several moments before finally, slowly, she raised her eyes to mine, and a smile pulled at her mouth.

"I thought you might like a bath." I said in a voice half snappish, half querying.

"Why, you're full of lovely gestures today, Herli." she said smoothly. "I wonder if there's something you want." One brown lid closed slowly in a playful wink to let me know she was joking. I gave her a grudging smile in return and came over to assist her. She moved slowly with the ache in her side, but with no less fluid grace. I poured the oils into the water and soaked the linen in it, wringing it out thoroughly, trying not to watch her as she pulled off her clothes, revealing inch after inch of smooth, brown musculature. It was nothing unusual. The women and I danced around naked in the baths tent without compunction. Closing my eyes, I picked up the wad of linen in my hand and moved around behind her, as she held her dress up against her front.

"I'll help you with your back." I informed her.

"I rather thought you would." was the amused response.

I sniffed a little, but laughed a little too, and pushed her short hair away from the back of her neck. It was rather dark inside the tent, and I pulled a candle stick a little closer so I could better see what I was doing, when I noticed a mass of faint marks spreading across the whole of her back. My initial thought was that they were marks made from the embroidery of the cushions she had been lying on, but as I massaged them with the linen they did not fade and, brow puckering in curiosity, I held the candle stick closer and touched them tentatively with my fingers. Scar tissue. Lash marks, spreading out from her spine and fanning into wings on both sides of her back. My mouth dropped open as I traced them in shock.

"Who made these?"

I could almost hear the dry smile in her voice. "An artist of an unusual ken."

"When?" I was still tracing the marks with my fingers, and her voice, when she answered, was low and husky.

"Long before the Bird."

I bit my lip and sighed. "But why?"

"To loosen my wings, perhaps. Although I think the intention was to clip them."

On a sudden ridiculous impulse I wrapped my arms about her waist under her dress and laid my cheek against her shoulder blade. I could feel the edge of the bandage against my fingertips. "No one could do that to you, Francoise. More fool he who tries." I could sense her smiling.

"How do you know it was a he?"

I spoke carefully. "An instinctive assumption, perfectly willing to be corrected if it should be wrong - "

She laughed softly and then took a breath. I held mine, my heart speeding up in anticipation, but at that instant there was the sound of canvas whispering against itself, and I felt an all too familiar presence enter the tent - and inhale sharply.

I realised how it must look, I with my arms around her and she with nothing on but a ragged dress held to herself, and I lifted my eyes apprehensively to where my husband stood with a dark frown on his face, arms folded across his chest. Damn it! I had been so close! With a quickness that must have indicated guilt, I moved away from her. "Clopin," I said hoarsely, then cleared my throat. He ignored me to address Francoise.

"You haven't stopped, I see." She raised a sharp eyebrow at him.

"What, bathing?" He frowned more deeply. "Oh, that," she said jokingly. "I haven't even begun." Clopin took a step forward, towering over Francoise, who seemed truly vulnerable in her wet and semi-dressed state for the first time since I had known her.

"It would be wise to keep it that way."

"Words of wisdom from one who consults a puppet for advice?" There was an edge to her voice.

"Words of mockery from a guest in my home? A little Romany honour would not go astray, Francoise."

She did not answer that one, just stared ahead with a dark intensity in her eyes. I was sure I had been about to reach somewhere with her. I realised she may just resent Clopin's interference as much as I did - although mine played a second to nervousness. Clopin continued to stare at her with something close to a challenge in his eyes. I took a chance and knelt down by her side.

"Are you alright to finish, Francoise?"

She nodded slowly and then Clopin's voice broke between us. "Get up, Herli." I dared to glare at him for a second, before returning my attention to her.

"I can stay if you'd like me to."

She shot me a look I couldn't interpret from the corner of her eye, but it was again Clopin who spoke, his voice no longer a warning, but a command. "Herli. Get up."

I rounded on him. "Clopin! Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong! Egotistical male, thinking everything is a competition! Can't you see you're only making things worse with this suspicious prowling around? It's your fault Francoise is in this position, now the least you can do is - "

Another step forward, and his arms fell to his side in clenched fist. "The least I can do would be what, apart from letting her stay in my home, put stupid ideas into your head, and moving out for her comfort, and now you want me to act as if nothing is going on?" I was about to say that nothing was going on when Francoise raised her head to look Clopin dead in the eye. "My dear Monsieur Trouillefou, a little Romany honour should be expected when one comes upon a wounded and unclothed woman, too. So, to quote the dear old matriarchs of times long past---fuck off."

There was silence for a second in which I sat back and put a hand to my mouth, and gaped at Francoise. Clopin stepped back with his hands on his hips and an incredulous expression on his face, and she stared, unwavering at him. Suddenly, I began to giggle, hiccuping in the effort to stay quiet, and then I began to laugh outright. Clopin rubbed a big hand over his goatee, and he was grinning too, shaking his head. Francoise's mouth slowly bent itself into a smile as she watched me laugh from pure astonishment, and then her eyes swivelled around to look at Clopin again.

"Such language from a lady like yourself, Francoise, I'm surprised." Clopin said in gentle mockery, with a hand resting lightly on his chest. Francoise reclined back on the cushions, the dress shifting and baring her shoulders so they poked up high. "Surprise; A useful defence when in a position such as my current one." she said dryly. "Your wife seems amused at any rate."

My laughter had quieted to giggles again, but the look Clopin shot me was one of affectionate tolerance, not angry reproach, and I gladly took the hand he offered me, and let myself be pulled to my feet. "We'll leave the lovely Rouen Bird to her toilette, Herli," he said, placing an emphasis of irony on the word 'lovely' although it had no malice to it. "We'll be back soon, Francoise, and we'll bring supper."

"Don't rush on my accord."

"I assure you we won't."

"That's enough you two." Finally, I am the one in control. "Honestly, like bickering children!"

They both laugh at me as Clopin and I wander toward the tent flap. The tension has been loosened, for the time being. But it won't take much effort to pull it tight once more.

Was the day especially exhausting? Apparently so, for I looked with great eagerness to our bed after we finished supper that evening. Clopin had put his foot down. He was staying inside the tent, and I was informed I couldn't do a damned thing about it. I didn't mind so much. I hadn't been aware how empty the bed was without him. My husband sat in his chair, long legs lazily up and his pipe between his teeth as he carefully painted the features on a small puppet. I pushed myself onto his lap for my kiss goodnight. Down besides his chair, Francoise was bundled on her cushions. I wanted to lean over and kiss her brown cheek, as I did to Colombine, but I did not want to be the one responsible for creating angst once more. I blew her a kiss instead, and her smile was crooked in return.

It might've been many hours later, or only a few minutes, I woke up to the sound of voices playing softly through the tent. My vision was blurry and the tent very dark but after a few seconds I noted that only one candelabra was still lit, shining down near the front of the tent, enveloping the two in a yellow bubble. I pulled the covers up a little way and peered over at them. From this angle the only one I could see clearly was Francoise.

"I hope you're thoroughly enjoying this," Clopin said.

"Of course I'm not. I'm going mad, Trouillefou. She's a nice distraction. Don't punish her for it."

"She's not a distraction. She's my wife."

"One could argue that in this case they're the same thing, but it's too late at night for witticisms. You give her a certain amount of freedom, and then you're shocked when she takes advantage of it. Make up your mind. Marriages are either about law or about whim---decide which is to be your focus, or in ten years you might be sleeping in a cold bed."

"There's a middle ground, Rouen. And you have little experience to speak of, for obvious reasons."

"Obvious reasons. Ah, yes! Obvious reasons! I have no family, or at least not one that I've mentioned in your presence. I'm not pretty. I'm not docile. I appear to be positively crumbling with age. And, oh yes! We musn't forget the most important one!"

He knew that he was being baited, and after a moment he gave in. "And what, in your opinion, is that?"

"That I'm mad. Stark, raving, upside-down screaming mad."

"Don't be melodramatic."

"Oh, I can maintain a certain level of stability. But wait and see what happens in two weeks, Trouillefou. I'll make a bet with you. If, in two weeks, I haven't gone insane, you can ask anything of me that you like---including leaving and not coming back. If, in two weeks, I'm a lunatic - " She paused. "- and if I continue to be one - cut my throat. Get somebody else to do it, if you like. Throw me in a back alley. Make it as covert as you like. But show me that much respect."

Shocked silence.

"Your bet is too morbid for me. I'll decline."

"Whichever way it falls out, I at least will keep my end of the bargain. It's just a matter of whether or not you'll have the guts to keep up yours. What happened to Romany honour and compassion?"

Clopin sighed, and I heard the noise of him shifting position. "Fine. It's agreed. Are you the type to demand blood to seal a deal?"

"No." She herself settled back. "Too morbid."

They both laughed quietly. "But about your Herlikin."

"Stop teasing her, at least."

"I never tease. I provoke that which is waiting to be provoked."

"Then stop provoking her." The sarcasm dripped from his voice. I don't like it when he gets sarcastic - there's such a bite to it.

"I'll do my best. But she's such a serious little creature. She plays without having fun. Every look is a judgement. Every gesture is ballet. Every smile is a long, romantic story. It has its charms, but I can't help but laugh."

My heart feels like a rock in my chest, and I can feel my mouth pulling down in a scowl.

"Yes, she does all of those things. She's self-centred. She can be mean-spirited, jealous, overly flirtatious, and overbearing. Should I keep listing off ways in which Herli's not perfect?"

My heart thuds dully, and my eyes narrow to complement my mouth.

"She's a lovely girl after all is said and done, Trouillefou, but I wouldn't walk over coals for her."

"I would."

Francoise leaned painfully forward, and I could see her face in the dim light. She smiled softly. The expression looked foreign on her face. "Then either you're a fool, or a very good man." She looked at what must be his stern expression and the wild grin returned. "Or, most likely, a lethal combination of the two."

"I wish you would stop tormenting me."

"And I wish you could enjoy it a little more. But have we reached a peace?"

"I think so. An uneasy one, maybe."

"That's the best you'll get when it comes to the Rouen Bird, Trouillefou. And, considering that I've beaten, mocked, and generally annoyed you, ---and considering that you, in retaliation, put a knife through my ribs - however unintentionally---I would say that it's quite impressive."

"Good night, Bird of Rouen," Clopin said wistfully.

"Good night, King of Paris," she answered.

I seethed helplessly for awhile before finally falling back asleep, Clopin's warmth on my back.


	8. Unexpected Guests

**Unexpected Guests**

The next day I awoke in a foul mood which continued without respite towards them for the rest of the week. Strange, one can always say what they know to be the truth about themselves - but should anyone else point it out...woe betide them. I avoided the tent as much as possible, and anytime I had to spend in their company I either ignored them or attempted to provoke. What fanned the flames was the fact that they were seemingly unperturbed by it. Of course, neither had any idea I'd overheard their little chat - but they could hardly not notice my behaviour. I'll steel my ego and venture that they were used to it. Surely, when I refused to perform with Clopin that week - and when he came home those evenings and found me chatting merrily in the Centre to whomever would listen, only to greet him with a scowl and an agitated twitch of the skirts, he realised something was amiss. And when I did not weigh Francoise's ears down with questions, or aim actions intended to spark a witticism or clever trick - she must've noticed, too.

But the both of them continued with their peace in a never-ending back and forth, sometimes almost unbearably clever, other times simply amusing - although I didn't let a smile pass my lips. I hated it. They shared songs and anecdotes - Clopin's long and colourfully involved, Francoise's riddle-like and removed.

To be fair to my skills at provocation, however - my wounded pride got in the way. To successfully irritate Clopin the way that I wanted I would have to flirt with Francoise - and the discovery of how she saw me made even the thought of it humiliating. As for herself - she was apparently imperturbable. And so I was annoyed, and the effort to not take it out on anyone except the two of them was tiring.

It was a listlessly hot Sunday, late in the afternoon. Many of the rom were lazing idly in the heavy cool of their tents, sleeping off their noontime indulgences and midnight exploits. I found myself wandering around the vurdons of the kumpania Francoise had come in with. I had managed to divine Francoise had no vurdon of her own - just a canvas sack with a few elusive contents. My intention upon beginning my walk had not been to snoop - only to get away from the two of them back in the tent - but when I caught sight of a tiny green cart, tightly covered with canvas, I'd strode over to it before I was even really aware. The cart I recognised - Christophe's, he generally kept paint supplies in it. But the old canvas which covered it - it was Francoise's. Her presence hung over it like incense - a strong, palpable aura. The canvas was even the same colour as her skin, and for a few moments I entertained morbid fantasies of what family relation she had murdered and skinned. I fiddled with the cords binding the canvas down, and wondered why she, who liked to keep her private life her private life, would leave her possessions out in the open like this. The answer swept over me with a breeze that made my hair stand up on end - of course, no one would dare go prying into her things. One just knew it was a foolish thing to do. Yet even while I thought this my ringed fingers were fumbling with the cords, pulling at the knots, and I was glancing surreptitiously through a curtain of hair around me. So I was a fool.

I knelt down beside the cart, and yanked the canvas up. Perhaps I had been expecting a group of demons to come shrieking out, for I was sorely disappointed when I saw nothing but the most ordinary - the clothes she had worn on the road, various props for her performances - an eye bending colour that was probably her performance garb - and that was all. The blood was rushing through me guiltily - I'd never done anything like this before - but I still reached out a hand and pushed and poked at what was there. On some level I realised I was looking for something, although I had no notion of what. The bright colour was her costume, and it broke apart into many colours as I nudged at it - then I froze as my hands brushed a hard outline consumed in its folds. My heart was racing now as I fumbled with the costume, pushing aside its voluminous layers to get at this object. My breath stuck in my throat as I finally laid a hand on it, feeling the leather - and the feathers - and slowly withdrew it.

It was the Bird mask.

I breathed in short gasps as I looked at it and it looked back up at me. I had been raised with masks for a living, and I knew alarmingly well that when one keeps an identity for so long...it's more than the sum of its inglorious parts. To touch a mask is to touch a personality - and you can feel it. I could feel it now, the Bird, in my hands. It was as beautiful and as manic as ever - but the power it had when Francoise wore it was considerably softened. My mind began to construct emotions for it, staring down into the empty eyes. It longed to be given life again. It was frustrated at being kept wrapped up and concealed in the cart. It wanted its wearer to give it its voice and its dances and tricks.

It wanted mischief.

The blood rushed to my cheeks. Finally, I leapt to my feet and hastily covered Francoise's cart again, bundling the Bird into the large pocket under my skirts. Then I returned to the tent. They were grinning about something, my husband and she, but the second I entered, Francoise's head snapped up with a distant look, and she searched me over with a strange expression. I looked back at her with a question in my eyes and after a few hesitant seconds, she looked away from me again.

My husband smiled cheerily at me and beckoned to me with one long gloved finger, but I sniffed and tossed my hair back as I passed by him. Never one to be put off, he shot out a lean arm and got hold of my skirts, pulling me back.

"What do you want, big-nosed fool?" I asked him irritably as he sat me on his lap. He smiled at me and ran two large hands through my hair.

"Just to enjoy your exceedingly pleasant company, snappish kitten." he told me.

"Are you sure my lack of perfection won't bother you too much?" I reiterated and he looked at me in surprise.

"When has it ever?" was the smart response, and I pinched his nose hard. He laughed at me and then spoke softly. "I'm going out now, for awhile. Why don't you come with me?"

I knew what he wanted and why he wanted to go. However, I wasn't terribly fond of him at that moment.

"It's my time with the moon," I said, not bothering to lower to my voice, and his smile fell. I pulled myself off his lap and eyed Francoise who was looking agitated.

Clopin sighed and got to his feet, tightening his sash and stretching like an alley cat. "Well, in that case, I'll have to amuse myself."

"Don't wear your hands out," I said snakily, and he shot me a look before shrugging.

"Well, at least I know the reason you've been so unsociable this week." Ah - he knows I hate it when he blames any of my irritation on that - even more so when it's not true. He tipped his hat to us. "I'm off, ladies. Adieu."

Neither of us said a word, and with a despairing glare he left the tent. He wasn't gone three seconds before Francoise turned to me stiffly. "Where did you go before?" There was a questioning urgency in her voice, and I stared at her for several moments before answering.

"Just for a walk."

She narrowed her eyes slowly at me. "And what did you find? Because one gets the impression that you found something."

I gave her a half smile. "You're right. I met up with an old friend of yours. I brought it back to say hello."

I reached under my skirts and pulled the Bird mask out, holding it up for her to see. She drew in her breath sharply, and her eyes glimmered brightly. Her mouth opened a little in alarm.

"A very grievous mistake, if well intentioned." She spoke more softly than usual, a waver in her voice. "Please give it to me, Herli." A long brown hand emerged from the cushions, trembling slightly at the fingertips. My lower lip was slack and I continued to stare at her. I looked at that tremor and felt a wash of sadistic pleasure. "I don't think that's a good idea. We wouldn't want you breaking into performance and ruining the stitches, would we?"

She gritted her teeth tightly. "Listen, Herlikin. Don't do that." She reached her hand forward again, palm open - but I stepped back, the mask just out of her reach.

"Just to look, not to touch," I taunted. Her eyes glassed over, and her arm began to buckle as she held it outstretched.

"Listen," she said again, and her voice cracked with panic. "Choose another way to be angry."

"Maybe I'm just too self-centred to know any other way. And didn't you say that I shouldn't make 'every gesture into a ballet'? Well," I said harshly, "this is a gesture...and now who's making it into a ballet?" I gracelessly brought the mask up to my face, and for a moment the Rouen bird had one green eye and one blue.

"Forgive her, Father, for she knows not what she does," Francoise whispered.

Something took over me. I'll be poetic and say that it must have been the mask. I struck a birdlike pose and began to cavort ludicrously, in a vicious burlesque of the Bird's finer acts. Francoise watched, and I wondered where I had seen the expression on her face before. It occurred to me later that it was the same way she had looked after the dagger had entered her ribs - a calm, anticipatory kind of shock. I finished with a dervish-like spin, and whipped the mask off with crazy elation.

The instant the mask was gone from my face, I was knocked off my feet.

Francoise swept a leg into my ankles, and I crashed to the ground, bones stinging. A vicious blow slammed into my breast bone, trapping my arm, and I felt my breath rush out. Another arm cracked up underneath my jaw and immobilized my head. My vision reeled as my legs, too, were mercilessly pinned down.

"That, my dear, was the most fantastically idiotic thing you could have done," a cold voice said from above me. I forced my eyes into focussing on Francoise's form above me. I started to babble, but the arm surged up under my jaw again, clamping my teeth shut.

"Not a word," it hissed. Fury stirred up in me again, recovering from the initial blow. I pushed up against her, scrambling like a mad cat to get away. I was only crushed downwards again. I thrashed harder, and with a terrifying speed I was being jerked upwards and thrown across the floor, an iron grip wrenching me by the hair. Tears came to my eyes as she pulled back, bending my spine and straining my scalp.

"Now," it said quietly, and a sharp hand lifted the mask into my view. "Do you have any idea what this is? It's very charming, isn't it? Harmless, for the most part. Well, dearest, so is Francoise. Very charming, and harmless for the most part, that is to say." The mask grinned down at me, and a stray feather drifted onto my reddening face.

"Did somebody fail to mention to you," the voice said, in a softer tone, "that two parts make a whole?"

The grip on my hair loosened, and my neck complained loudly as it was released. I began to sit up, but was pounded back to the ground. I yelped as a hard hand connected with my shoulder.

"Ah, no no! They won't give you up quite so easily. Together, they have enough spite in them to make you look positively amorous in comparison. Nicely delineated, one needn't take worry. Our cuckoo here," it raised the mask again, "is under supervision of an audience. And our dearest alter-ego is quite mature enough to take care of herself, as riddled with human faults as she might be, n'est-ce pas? Either one of them would survive - for a limited time, naturally, but survive - on their own. To be honest," it said, leaning in confidentially, "I would put my money on Francoise. The Bird, while it has its occupational merits, is a little abstract...can you breathe?" It interrupted itself. I nodded as best I could, half terrified and half mesmerized. "Then I must not be pressing down hard enough. Getting older, wouldn't you know it? At any rate. The point of this friendly little oratory was actually summed up in your gregarious little taunt - you must pardon my long-windedness, I so rarely get a chance to pipe up. Could you repeat it?"

The blood rushed to my face again, and through my clamped teeth I managed to whisper it.

"Yes! That's it! 'Look, but don't touch.' As much as Francoise loves intimacy - oh, don't look indignant, it doesn't suit your features at all - as much as she loves intimacy, it's a dreadfully bad idea. If she'd had her way we'd all be calmly cloistered in a very dull little - oh, I won't get into it. Fractured, aren't I? Suffice to say we two," it smiled conspiratorially at the mask, "would be dreadfully unemployed. But, as luck would have it, a little good old madness, mayhem and, thank god, tragic fate gave us our opening. I was, of course, consigned to a mainly managerial position. I had a good solid nine or ten years in complete command. Marvellous, vicious times. But at first it was all rather uneven! We were all exceedingly different in taste and mannerisms, and none of our schedules ever agreed. One moment this and the next moment that. But inevitably, over the years, we all began to get along - and I dare say that certain elements are rather indistinguishable now. It'll be positively fascinating to see if we ever achieve total synthesis. I'm looking forward to it. It gets very stuffy in the back of this head, I admit! There's only so much thumb to twiddle. Well, enough about us. I simply had to pay a visit - with the Bird wandering off on that pretty face of yours and Francoise a little too perturbed to help herself, there was nothing left but for me to step in and knock a little sense into you - figuratively and literally, it's turned out. I would estimate that only one or two other people - let's call it one and a half for kicks - have a real idea of what's going on! And one of them, is sadly, dead." It made a gruesome noise as it drew a finger across her throat. "Long ago and far, far away. Both of them were terrible threats - one was positively obsessed with Francoise, and the other was rather enamoured, I'll blushingly admit, with me. But you, my dear, took an interest in all three, if I'm not mistaken. Bravo. You've done a marvellous job. You even got to meet me, dusty old relic that I am. Now, I'm afraid that I've used up all my time. I have places to go and things to do when I get there. In the meantime, I'll congratulate you once again for your outstanding efforts, and leave you to clean up your own mess. As for you," it added, turning back to the Bird. "Welcome home." It grinned darkly, and laid a sharp kiss on its beak.

When her face turned slowly back towards mine, it was Francoise's. She gazed silently at me, her vision tracing from the dark arm crossing my chest up to my eyes.

"Angry," she said quietly. "And not thinking."

She let me up, gingerly rising to her feet. As an afterthought she put a hand to her ribs.

"There's no blood," she murmured. "I think they'll be alright."

I stood up tremblingly, averting my eyes. There was a long space of silence, during which she awkwardly lifted her hand to her hair and smoothed it down. She drew her hand back down and looked at it for a moment, then dipped down to the ground. She stood up again with the red gloves in her hand. As an afterthought, she looked at the mask in her hand, and for an instant she turned, mouth open to ask me to hold it. She stopped when she saw my face, and gently set it down on a cushion instead. With a sad deftness she pulled the gloves on, one a shade darker than the other. Then she picked the mask up, and turned it towards her face, so she and the Bird look into each others' eye. "Meddler," she said hoarsely, and a smile crept onto one side of her face. She let it fall to her side and turned to me.

"I apologize," she said, enunciating the I.

I tried to say something, but couldn't.

"And by way of your apology," she almost whispered, "would you be so kind as to put this back where it belongs?" She held the mask out on one finger to me. The half-smile slowly spread into a full one, and I found myself gently taking it. Then I found myself crying.


	9. A Little Night Music

**A Little Night Music**

I did not cry because I'd been pinned to the ground and had the wind knocked out of me, nor did I cry at the thought of what Francoise had to live with, there in her head. She could handle it, she'd learned how to. Perhaps I cried because I realised that I could not, and because of that - I could never have Francoise - not as a friend or a lover or a guide or anything else. There was too much to her I couldn't understand, and would probably have neither the patience or courage to try. Though I wanted to. I wanted to very much. The strange downturn of her eyes when she came back to me only made me hungrier for it. But I would never have her to myself. And I hated sharing. I didn't even realise I'd sunk slowly to my knees, clutching the Bird and crying, until I felt one hand on either side of my head, and opened my eyes to see with blurred vision her legs in front of me. The soft leather of her gloves tickled my cheeks, and there was a faint metallic smell. The smell of old blood, I realised, and slowly lifted my head to look at her. Her hair hung about her face, soft and sharp, from that angle looking for all the world like stalactites, and her eyes were dim and half shut. I had not seen such a - sorrowful look on her face before. It upset me further, and pulling away from her soft hands, I stumbled out of the tent, the sand on the Court surface creeping up between my toes.

The mask pushed with every inch of its strength at the canvas as I bound it down in the cart once more, but I succeeded in shutting it finally, though my fingers slipped on the knots a hundred times and were crisscrossed with dull red lines by the time I turned to go back to my tent, where Francoise was alone. Yes, despite what had just happened, I wanted to see her and I wanted to be near to her. I'm sure Clopin could of thought of a thousand questions to ask her -

"Who were you?"

"Who died? Did you kill them? Why does that seem right?"

"Synthesis, coordination, what are you babbling about?"

But I could only think of one -

"Are you alright, Francoise?"

Her head jerked towards me, a surprised question on her face, her eyes seeming sunken in their roundness. I thought perhaps she'd not heard me properly, so I repeated the question louder, though my voice still wavered on her name.

She continued to stare at me for a moment, her forehead creased and her mouth open a little. Suddenly, it snapped shut and she turned her head away again, blocking out the candle light so the shadows ran wild, and the faint glow caught light in her hair giving it a hazy golden glow. "I'm fine." she said in a queer, choking voice, then turned to me with bright, deep brown eyes and a crooked grin on her face. Hesitantly, I crept forward to where she sat, almost tip toeing, as though I were afraid she suddenly leap out and fly off before I could get close. Slowly I sank down besides her, not letting my eyes leave her face for a moment, my entire body poised. She laughed a little and then quickly reached out a finger to run it down my sternum. My nerves were immediately set atingle, and I looked down with apprehension to see what I expected - the flesh was already beginning to discolour, as though Death herself had been the one to touch me, and bruise. Before Francoise could say another word, I leapt ahead.

"Whoever your friend was," I said in a thoughtfully dry voice, examining the second set of bruises I had been given these last two weeks. "Tell her that my brothers are better at wrestling than I am." I looked up at her again with a wink and a smile and with something close to relief in those glittering eyes she smiled back at me. I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her close, but now - that wouldn't be fair, would it, to cup your hands around the hard-beating heart of a wild bird...

Later on, I wrapped my diklo tight around my shoulders and tucked it snugly into my bodice to hide the purple stain that had spread there. Queries from Clopin I did not need. Bruises abound.

Francoise seemed bended up double on herself, snuggled down deeply into the cushions and the rugs which covered her, her hands folded quietly in her lap, her eyes far, far away as she stared ahead at nothing and everything. She jerked back into life when I picked up her hands in mine and tugged on them, looking up at me with a sharp question.

"Come, beautiful ibis, time to stand out amongst the pigeons." I said coaxingly and with a laugh to my voice that was not altogether in my heart.

She got to her feet more slowly than before, although I could see a flush had risen in her cheeks, and gave me her hands. Painfully, she stretched to her full height and swivelled her gaze down to mine and then to the tent exit and, with I supporting her around her hard waist and she leaning down on my shoulder, we headed towards the Court Centre.

We were greeted to the tunes of laughter edged with drink and the good humour the companionship of friends always brings - Clopin was entertaining his people. And they were never more truly my handsome husband's people than when he was performing. He stood aloft on a barrel in the centre of one of the circles, his long thighs and shapely calves caressed by the light of the fire, his arms spread wide and expressive, and the grin on his face almost blinding. Men and women alike looked up at him rapturously, hanging on his every word as he shared with us a story of the idiotic gaje and their primitive ways on the streets above in Paris that day. Francoise and I hovered where we were, our eyes fixed on him as he rose above us in full force to give his story its finishing touches - before bowing to the Rom's applause. He basked in it shamelessly for several minutes before leaping lightly down and aspying the two of us waiting just beyond the circle, away from the warmth of the fire. With his sharply narrowed eyes came several other sets, and not long after that, hushed whispers and curious frowns as they examined Francoise from head to toe, and I by her side. We ignored them and moved stiffly over to sit on one of the benches, Francoise letting go of my shoulder to melt gently down and listlessly brush a damp ribbon of hair back.

"I'll fetch you a drink, Francoise," I told her softly, and she nodded stiffly, her gaze lowered, as I turned towards the tankards scattered throughout the Centre. I'd felt the tremor in her when she'd watched Clopin, felt it again when they'd all turned to look at her. She was cursing the twisted hole in her side that kept her from joining Clopin on the stage - from outshining Clopin on the stage.

No, I thought. That kept her from joining him. And that, for the moment, was all.

I met all eyes with a challenge of my own, and reached the wine barrels undefeated, filling a tankard for her with a small smirk playing on my lips - until Clopin's shadow fell against my outstretched arms. He coughed quietly, and when I finally tore my eyes over to his, I saw he was standing with his hat in his hands and an apprehensive smile on his mouth. What could I do? I kissed the apprehension away and took advantage of his hatless state to run my fingers through his hair, while he held me up. I grinned at him when we pulled apart and he shook his head at me.

"You're almost as unpredictable as our friend the Bird," he said dryly, and I tugged at his tunic mischievously to pull him back to where Francoise waited. I handed her the drink, as he walked up with a swagger and his hat perched cockily back on, stopping in front of Francoise to put his hands on his hips, and she looked up at him from beneath a fringe of hair, a wry smile twisting her lips.

"Care to regale us with some dazzling dancing, fair Francoise?" he asked her gaily and so loudly I wondered if he'd been drinking. "Perhaps some astounding aerodynamics, performed with artistry only you could achieve?"

She sniffed. "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for winsome witticisms to while away the wonderless time, Trouillefou. I'm all wound up." she said dryly, and Clopin chuckled at the alliteration.

"Well, Madame, it appears that I at last have you at a disadvantage."

"Well, sir, it appears that I have you at even more of one."

"Pardon me, Madame, but it appears to me that you're the one with a hole in your side."

"Pardon me, monsieur, but it appears that you're the one who put it there."

"Too true. But you know that I didn't mean it to be so."

"Sadly so. I'm afraid that I find you totally innocent - which is the worst crime of all. An adage you had do best to repeat to yourself, sir, or one of these days you may find that you've been all virtue and no gypsy."

"Conceded. But how might your injury be a disadvantage to me?"

"Well sir, innocent or no, you're honour bound to be apologetic, self-deprecating, and charitable."

"Ah. Yes, I could see that as a disadvantage."

"Yet still---"

"Still what, chere Madame?"

"They all look dreadfully bored."

"Well, with you wounded and I honour-bound---not to mention bone-tired, of course---what on earth could you have in mind?"

"I'm certain I have no idea, Trouillefou."

"Perhaps together we could think of something."

"Well, sir, there's always music."

"Ah, but such a poor substitute for pantomime," Clopin sighed.

"Then there's always legerdemain."

"Yes, but such a poor substitute for music! And besides, you're not in condition for it," Clopin said ribbingly.

"True, true. I must agree that sleight of hand is beyond me this evening," Francoise said, seamlessly pulling a long, green feather out of nowhere and tapping it thoughtfully on her cheek. "In better days, why, I could conjure eggs out of thin air---" she snapped her right wrist and produced an egg---"scarves from behind your knees---" she listlessly reached behind Clopin's leg and withdrew a purple scarf---"and flowers from cooking pots." She gingerly removed a wild rose from an abandoned stew pot. "But alas, not tonight."

"Then it shall have to be music, I suppose."

"Pity, isn't it, Trouillefou?"

"Very. So, do you know any songs, then?"

"Oh, a few."

"Romance, humour, epic, or ditty?"

"They look like a grey bunch, Trouillefou. A chuckle or two wouldn't hurt."

"And once they're cheered, we can really go at them."

"We can finish them off with a little pathos and lost love, is that the idea?"

"Precisely."

"Trouillefou, you're a genius. Comedic it is, then."

The warm tones of their voices harmonizing filled the corner. Francoise sang a little more softly, not wanting to hurt her ribs further. It sounded strange, hearing her sings the words for once. There was a round, dusty accent to it, as if she'd grown up listening to cathedral chants.

They were a disturbingly perfect duet---he with his curled notes and she with her shivering improvisations. They moved on to lullabies, and I almost fell asleep to the sound.

"Well, sir," I heard Francoise say. "It is time for the last songs of the evening."

"What do you recommend, Madame?"

"A tune that you might not know. Would you mind?"

"Madame, the crowd is at your disposal."

"I thank you. You may harmonize, if you wish."

"Accepted. Proceed." Their tones were joking, but hushed.

There was a brief pause as Francoise cleared her throat.

_Lackaday, strange bird, lackaday_

_Your flock, they all have flown away_

_Lackaday, strange bird, lackaday,_

_Your lover's long since gone_

_Shed a tear, strange bird, shed a tear_

_The lands beneath your wings are queer_

_Shed a tear, strange bird, shed a tear_

_The valley's turned to stone_

_Fold your wings, strange bird, fold your wings_

_For you have lost so many things_

_Fold your wings, strange bird, fold your wings_

_Your journey's long since done._

"And now, sir, I must bid you goodnight."

"A fine farewell, Madame."

"A fine performance, sir."

"And so, Mesdames et Messieurs, we bid you bon soir," Francoise said. Clopin offered a hand to help her to her feet. She looked tired, and older. I noticed the lines that crossed her face and what might be a few wiry hints of grey in her hair. Such a strange creature.

I took her back to the tent, Clopin gently squeezing my arm before we left. He too could see the weariness on Francoise's face. A few children trailed beside us, and she smilingly avoided their questions and sent them back to their mothers.

"I suspect," she said huskily, "I'll be ready to leave soon. Sadly, I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't come back."

"Why not?" I asked, a little alarmed. I swept back the tent door, closing it tight behind us.

"Because, my dear, I'm not sure how long I can keep this up before something kills me off. I had a brush with eternity here, and it's a lucky thing that blade didn't go two inches higher. I've always had a penchant for borrowing time, and I'm quite certain that I've worked up a tremendous debt."

"Don't be so morbid," I said gently, guiding her to the soft, inviting cushions.

"I'm not," she answered, settling stiffly into the shadows. "I'm being realistic. And when a performer becomes realistic, the end can't be far behind." She smiled. "I've been wanting to go mad for years, and get it over with. But I haven't the heart to put it upon you two, no matter how much you've tried. One of these days I'll just let the bird take over and get us good and murdered, and that will take care of things nicely. Your husband might understand, a little. But he's drawn lucky cards---a decent city, a lovely wife, and something resembling a family. It won't happen to him. He'll go out in high style---as will you, I'm sure. But, as I said, a nice madness is what's appropriate. And now," she said, inhaling, "it's time I stopped alarming you and got some sleep."

"Please do," I said weakly.

I didn't leave the tent again that night. I couldn't bear to.


	10. A Twilight Dawn

**A Twilight Dawn**

Abigail makes a wondrous ointment that soothes pains and aids quick healing of any wounds. It was this ointment I had massaged gently into Francoise's cut, and although it was still deep, and the skin had not finished bonding, I knew Francoise would not be here at the end of two weeks to see if Clopin would keep his end of the deal. I did not, however, expect that when I awoke the corner where Francoise had lived with us would be empty, its shadows retreating in upon itself and a silence hanging heavily over it. Alarmed, I leapt out of bed, not failing to note Clopin was not beside me. I hastily pulled a wrap around my shoulders, not bothering to get dressed although I knew it could cause me trouble. Then I was out and running hastily through the Court, towards the furthermost exit, far beyond the Centre, the exit that leads to the outskirts of Paris.

It was early morning and the Court was silent, still and very dark. A few dogs worried scraps at the corners of tents, and I heard the uncomfortable scurrying of rats, but I kept going until a dull grey light signalled my destination. I exited the Court and looked about me frantically, shivering in the early morning chill. The sun had not yet risen, but was threatening to break on the horizon. It was in this gloamy light that I caught sight of a solitary figure, making his slow way down the road, a canvas sack flung over her shoulder. A heavy, waist-length cloak kept him from the morning air, and a wide-brimmed, well-worn hat covered his face. And from the base of the hat emerged the single, slender, blood red feather.

"Hie!" I called out. I thought I saw the figure pause, but he did not turn around. With an agitated sigh I took up running, my feet pounding hard on the ground, gaining on the figure that made no attempt to either stop or move faster.

I fell into step by her side, panting from my exertion, glaring at Francoise who continued to merely look ahead, walking slowly. As we moved through the dim purple of the air, it seemed we were the only two creatures alive. For a moment I didn't say anything, just held back my hair from my neck, the slight sweat I had worked up in running now turning cold in the morning air, and continued to shoot angry looks at Francoise as we walked together. She was unperturbed; her eyes focused hard on the road in front of her, her wonderful profile sharp and clear against the soft grey trees.

Finally, I stomped in front of her, throwing out my arms to block her path. "Well? You weren't going to say goodbye?"

She did me the courtesy of stopping, and the look she gave me was gentle. "Would it really have made a difference, Herli?"

Angry tears sprang up in my eyes and I stamped a foot on the ground. I wanted to put my arms around her and somehow soothe everything away.

"Of course it would've!"

"What?"

"What do you mean, what? What difference would it make? It would make me feel as though these last week and a half hasn't been a dream, it would make me feel as though I actually meant something to you!"

A look of agitation washed swiftly over her features. "Do you have to have a profound effect on everyone you meet?"

"Do you? You shouldn't talk, crazy bird. And did you have to play with my feelings like that?"

She smiled suddenly. "Good lord, if that didn't take you awhile. Here was your husband, yammering about how I was playing with you, and now, one foot in the next province and eyes towards the horizon, I'm asked 'did you have to play with my feelings like that'! Herli, it didn't mean that much to you. You and I both know Clopin's the one in your heart, and I merely inspired a curiosity, perhaps perverse, but just a curiosity."

"No no no!!" I was getting more and more frustrated. "No that wasn't it at all!! And I bet you know that too" I jabbed an accusing finger at her, and she caught my hand in hers, rubbing her thumb against my wrist and urging me a little closer, lifting my arm so I could feel her warm breath against my flesh. Instantly I shivered, not from the cold, but from the desire to take another step closer.

"Voila," she said softly. "Within a week you'll have forgotten the physical attraction, and I'll be a vaguely disturbing memory, a quirky madwoman who disrupted your otherwise peaceful life."

I snatched my hand back. "Why do I get the feeling you're trying to convince yourself more than you are me?" I couldn't interpret what passed through her eyes then, but she shook her head firmly.

"Herli, no matter what you think now, you'd change your mind very quickly after a week of myself and the Bird - you couldn't even survive an afternoon at my pace, remember?" She chuckled, the brim's shadow covering her eyes. Her face straightened after a moment. "And you've stirred up somebody who's best left unstirred."

"Bah! I'd enjoy every second and come back for more." I said obnoxiously, and her eyes started out from the shadow. "I already did once!" I pointed out. She stayed still for a long moment, then finally released a sigh, nodding.

"Yes, you did. To your credit, if you can call it a good thing, that's never been done before. Maybe that's why I up and left so rudely - you're in danger of cracking a sea of eggshells." Again she paused and her eyes ran over me. "And maybe I like you too much to want that to happen."

I met her eyes with mine, holding them stubbornly. "I'm not afraid of you, Francoise."

She grinned. "No, I know you're not afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of the Bird, either." "

You should be afraid of everything that lives beneath this hat," she said offhandedly, smiling still. I didn't answer that.

"I just wish you had stayed to say goodbye."

"Perhaps I was concerned over what Clopin would do when he discovered your latest body art. In the fashionable shades of black and blue."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "You're a fool if you think I believe that. I did notice Clopin wasn't there when I awoke."

"No. He awoke when I did, and very courteously assisted my leaving."

My blood boiled and I clenched my fists at my side. "Oh, really?"

"Now, don't be angry at him - he was thinking of you, believe it or not. I can't say I particularly blame him for wanting me out."

"He shouldn't act on my behalf! Perhaps I wanted you to stay!"

"This conversation is beginning to make me dizzy. It goes only in circles."

I bit my lip hard and swallowed tears. "I should come with you, just to teach you both a lesson!" I snapped childishly and she laughed. "Why don't you then?"

"Ooh! You're so difficult to get along with!"

"Ha! Precisely! Imagine what it would be like if I really played games with you. At the end of our journey you'd be crazy."

"Then we'd make a lovely couple."

The smile softened.

"Well, come along then, little kitten. Let's see if you can handle it." She sped her pace, boots again raising dust. It wasn't a serious invitation but I pouted at her. "You know I can't leave Clopin. I don't want to leave Clopin, I'm happy with him."

"Have you ever heard of something called a coin? The two sides can't meet. Fascinating concept, isn't it? Silly girl."

I clenched my fists. "I don't know! I don't know what I want right now. I don't know what to think about it all."

She smiled down on me. "Like I said, what a silly girl. Your mind is already made. Go home to your lovely young husband, daft creature. I know why I feel what I feel, sometimes I even pretend to understand what I do, but you're still learning which way is up and which is down. Somehow, in a few years' time I don't think you'll still be quite so content to languish about the Court, chattering and fidgeting. And I imagine you never expected a woman to crash into your thoughts, either. Makes it hard, doesn't it, knowing that you're not the one with the reins?"

It almost drove me mad then, to see that all-knowing grin quirk one side of her face, accentuating the lines there. Yes, I was young and naive and on and on and on, but did she have to behave so exceptionally superior about it? And damnit all, I was still drunk on everything that was beneath that strange head, and I wished hard for her to stay - and for her to leave, for I didn't want to make a cuckold of my adored husband...

"There's a positive mistiness to those pretty eyes of yours, Herli." Her amused voice broke my tangled little chain of thoughts. "You're not, perhaps, regretting you didn't act upon your baser instincts while I was still around to enjoy them?"

That did it for me. She hadn't been around so long that I couldn't surprise her yet! My heartbeat became a flurry of activity, and I pounced on her, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other behind her neck, pulling her high head down to mine. Then I kissed her. It was not the friendly peck I dropped on Colombine's forehead, nor the loving press I pushed against Abigail's cheek. It was certainly not the protective murmur I placed against my daughter's hair when she lay in my arms. I kissed Francoise the way I kissed Clopin, opening her mouth with mine and pushing my heart into it.

For a second her lips were cold, then they came to life, kissing me back, and her wonderful hands were coaxing me closer by the waist so that my body pressed up against hers. I ran my other arm up around her neck and for a long while - somehow not nearly long enough - we stood together. I was unable to ignore the fact it was another woman I was pressed against - the feel of her was completely different, the hips and angled, tapering waistline- but it only made the whole moment more delicious, more intoxicating.

At some point I became aware I was no longer the one leading the kiss, but it hardly seemed to matter. Her black hair had a fine coarseness to it which slipped quickly through my fingers, and her mouth had a sweet-salty taste, her lips warm but her tongue cold. Oh, it was completely different from kissing Clopin, though there was a degree of that intensity. Gradually, I recognised the hunger in the embrace; it was not the call for pure love that was answered when I was with my husband, but a need - a need for another to acknowledge something within ourselves neither of us could bother to name. It didn't have much to do with sex, in the end - more so on her part, maybe.

Does it matter, in the end, Herli?

When she released me finally I stumbled back a little, realising she had been supporting my body the whole time, and I blinked and let out a long, hard breath.

Well, I'd surprised myself at any rate.

I could feel the blood pounding hard in my cheeks, and I'm sure my eyes were bright as I looked up at her, she smiling masterfully down at me. But I wasn't so dazed I couldn't see a different respect in her eyes - she hadn't expected it, and I had had my way.

"Well, I'm sure no kitten's ever mauled a bird in such a way before," she said softly, and I shook my head quickly.

"I'm sure no bird's ever pawed back!" I retorted and she laughed.

"Are you sorry you didn't try it earlier?"

I leapt forward and grasped her hands again. "I want to take you back to my tent right now and pervert nature thoroughly!" Her eyes widened with something akin to surprise. "But I don't want to, either." I let her hands go again, turning to shake my hair behind my shoulders and get a hold of myself. "I've come to care about you despite myself - despite yourself - Francoise, but I love my husband. Clopin - " I outstretched my hands, as though the answer was held within them. " - he makes me right. I can't think of any other way to describe it. He makes life coherent, whereas I think you would only disrupt it. As much as I long for you - for all of you - at the end of it, there'd only be three very hurt people. Or perhaps five?" I cocked an eyebrow, and she gave me a tight smile with her hands crossed over her breast.

"No, only three."

"Three then. I don't want even one. Least of all, Clopin."

"Lucky fool, to have one so devoted to him. And smart girl, finally realizing her own realization. There's hope for you yet - the both of you."

It was my turn to cross my arms over my breast and cock the other eyebrow. "Is that an edge of sardony, lovely ibis?"

"Not at all." she came forward and cupped my cheek in one of her hands, her strong fingers pressing against my flesh, looking down at me gently.

"Have you ever done that before, Francoise?"

"Ah!" her hand dropped back to her side and she turned away with a short laugh. "Just when I think I could bear you on an extended basis, you begin with your inquiries again! But in exchange for your generous hospitality - in all ways - I'll give you half an answer. I've not done that before - like I just did with you. And that will have to suffice."

The sun had broken over the horizon and was flushing the surrounding countryside with a warm glow. The spell that had been cast by the silver-grey morning was being torn slowly apart like cobwebs. Soon, Paris would awaken and come to life, bidding her on and myself back.I could still feel her lips on mine, the taste of her on my tongue. My cheeks were still flushed, and the way she glanced at me from the side then made me step forward and put my arms around her neck again, pushing myself against her.

"I don't want you to go."

"In the beginning," she said dryly, "there was the end." But she put her arms around my waist again.

I tilted my head upwards, inviting a kiss but she only shook her head. "Once more." I whispered. "Before you leave me for good."

She leant forward and shook her head again, her nose brushing mine lightly with the movement.

"Once more," she said softly, her lips hovering just inches above mine "and it won't end with a kiss."

I trembled with indecision in her arms. I held her tight against me for a moment, resting my chin on her shoulder, then pulled away. Her smile was quiet, and her movement slow as she pushed hair away from her face. "I thought so." but it might've been regret in her eyes.

She turned, and left. If anybody saw us, they saw a gypsy man giving his lover a farewell embrace, then striding off into the dust.

I never heard of her again.


	11. and done

**..and done**

Clopin was waiting for her when she returned to the tent. He was standing quietly, arms folded, hat tipped down as if he was standing in a downpour.

"Hello, stranger," she said softly.

"All alone, mam'selle? It's dangerous at this early hour. There are ruffians everywhere."

"I can take care of myself, m'sieu."

"Is that so?"

"It is. And besides, who do I know that you're not a ruffian yourself?"

"I suppose," he leaned forward, "that you will have to trust me."

A grin edged onto one side of her face. "Well, I'll need some test of your loyalty, first."

"Likewise."

"Do you have anything in mind?"

"Let's see. Give me a moment to think." He put a finger to his lips and struck an exaggerated, contemplative posture, one hip thrust to the side. "Ah, yes. But it's a very sensitive idea. You should come closer so I can whisper it to you." He smiled conspiratorially.

"Very well, m'sieu," she replied, and as she stepped forward her yanked her into his arms and sent her, laughing, hurtling into the tent.

She looked drowsily up into the high, dark ceiling of the tent. A flash of colour made her start, and as her vision swam into focus an irregular shape emerged.

"Clopin," she whispered, shaking his shoulder.

"My god, woman," he muttered, "what more could you ask for?"

"Look up."

He blearily raised his head and squinted at the darkness. His frown deepened. "Let me get a light," he said, intrigued. He lifted a blanket from the corner and crept out of the tent. After a moment he returned, bearing a thin, dully glowing torch. He lifted it to the ceiling, his back blocking her view. She saw his ribs lift and then expand with quiet laughter.

"What? What is it?"

He stepped deftly to the side, holding back a grin.

The Rouen Bird glared priggishly down at her, an empty mask. "It won't come down unless the tent comes with it," Clopin added, drawing the torch away. The shadows shifted around the mask, and it appeared to swivel its gaze from her face to his and back again. "It's tied to the supports." Herlikin stared up at it for a moment in silence. The torch flickered, and the Bird winked at her.

"And to be honest," he added, "I'm not sure I have the courage to take it down."

The smug expression somehow found its way onto her face once more.


	12. Authors' Note

**Authors' Notes**

_COVIELLE._ I did it again. I gave Clopin a rough time. I'm sorry. But I at least gave him the chance to be his normal witty self again---after one encounter with Francoise, I guess you start to learn caution.

About Francoise. It was wonderful getting a chance to flesh out such a weird character...and leave so much room left for you to make up. (Good lord, she's got whip scars, makes references to "Our Father," has a vocabulary the size of Iberia, and...yes, well, I won't go on.) She will not appear in any more adventures with Clopin or Herlikin---but who knows? She might make some independent forays in the future.

As for her 'allure.' Well, I didn't even bother to be subtle with this one---elbows Harley, who goes "OW!" and grins evilly--but I hope nobody came away with the impression that this is Medieval French Dykes. We two authors are too ambiguous to do that---much less our characters. In the end, I just have to hope the romantic elements were done respectfully, and didn't creep you out. If it did---I hope some day you meet somebody truly miraculous, and then discover afterwards that their attraction traits are different from your own. Humanity's a beautiful, many-splendoured thing. Harley yells from sidelines, "Awww, cut the sappy stuff! Ahem, well, yes. I had a marvellous time with my co-author---long ICQ sessions full of double entendres, soul-searching, and goofing off. We wrote this more for each other than we did for anybody else.

_HARLEY QUINN._ Well helllooooooo. Glad I made it here after trampling through the barriers once more...gets a little hard on a gal's feet sometimes.

Anyway, why, you ask, why be so mean to Clopin? Because it just so happened I couldn't resist Francoise :) And neither could Herli.

Not only that, but it gave me the opportunity to get into Herli's head a little more. What, feelings for a woman? Eh? Herli's only ever been with one man and she's not exactly an - ahem - people person. If someone attracts her, that's just the way it is.

And yes - this wasn't written just to do something that's never been done within the HoND fandom before. Initially it was meant to be one hundred percent humorous and very short. Things just didn't happen to work out that way. The story half led itself , and uh - heh - we couldn't help but follow.

I'm not going to go into minute blow by blow details on motivations, reasons, explanations and secrets - (Ask and I'll tell. Maybe.) but I will say Herli's attraction to Francoise was powered by much of my own - a desire to know her better, a desire to find out her feelings - so it wasn't purely physical. And Herli's repeated assertions that she loves only Clopin is not an attempt to convince herself - it's quite true. It's just hard for to realise she would like to be someone else's support - she's not the most selfless thing in the world - even if she couldn't handle it.

To cap off, working with Covielle was fabulous - coming from the world of theatre, I know how difficult it is to find someone who knows the meaning of the word teamwork, but this was almost too easy to do. I had lots of fun - certainly some of the most fun I've had doing a story .And yes - my gift to Cov and her gift to me (for what, who cares!) so if it's not your style, it's our and that's really all that counts to me. :)


End file.
